


Gilmore's Glorious Gift

by CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bargaining, M/M, Magical Accidents, Well it's not really an accident, but there are some unforeseen side effects
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:04:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9878522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper/pseuds/CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper
Summary: It wasn't Scanlan who fell in the second battle against Raishan.Gilmore wasn't there to stop it, but by the Gods he won't be sitting by and doing nothing now.





	1. What Can I Do

**Author's Note:**

> NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH although it is Vox Machina, so things may be a bit touch and go at some points. Characters and pairings will be updated as the story progresses - there will be some slight polyamory, but mostly in the feelings department rather than the physical. Please enjoy!

He should have been with them.

The mantra runs on loop in his head, each word a perfect beat in time with the pounding of his feet down Whitestone’s cobbled roads.

He should have been _with_ them.

Clattering stone gives way to sodden earth. Satin robes grow filthy and damp at the hem as he presses on in panic.  Each squelch of his sandals as his feet sink and pull from the mud sounds too much like a claw pulling from flesh, like teeth sinking into a soft chest.

_He should have been with them._

He has to stop for a moment at the entrance to the crypt, panting as he leans against the doorframe. A few errant tears splash against the marble before he can press his palms tightly against his eyes, drawing a deep, shuddering breath.

_He should have been with him._

Pushing away from the door, he stumbles down the dark steps.  One hand sliding against the wall keeps him upright as he trips over himself in his panic.  By the time he reaches the final step he’s in a run again, not bothering to light any of the torches lining the walls until he reaches the mechanism Zahra had shown him that day they had waited with baited breath for news of Vorugal.

_“You’re going to have to stop pacing, Shaun.” Zahra had snapped at him, slamming the heavy tome in front of her shut. “They’ll be okay. And when they’re done, they’re going to be back and need our help for the next step… whatever that may be.” Gilmore stopped by the library’s window, looking out into the courtyard._

_“Yes. Of course they are. They always are. Except for that small incident when Vex’ahlia died, you know. Or the one where Percival died. Or the one-“ Rambling didn’t suit him, Shaun knew that. Recently, however, he’s felt his composure slipping away a little more every day, every night, every time Vox Machina set off for the next phase in their fight against the Chroma Conclave.  And something about the way Vax had been talking that night, so prepared to walk into oblivion-… well, let it be said that Shaun Gilmore’s delicate, expensive sleeves were highly unaccustomed to having so many loose threads and frayed ends._

_“Shaun.” Zahra laid heavy on the vowels, drawing out his name in that way that made him feel like a child being scolded. He gave her a sheepish smile as she stood up and came to lean against the window next to him.  “Yes, they may have had a few… mishaps, recently, but what matters is that right now, they are all alive, and fine, and working together.”  Gilmore looked away, and Zahra reached out and gently turned his face back towards her.  “And you know what they can accomplish when they’re together.”_

_“…I do,” he sighed, batting away Zahra’s hands. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure whether that makes it better, or worse.” Zahra’s dark chuckle is comforting in a way that Gilmore thinks it probably shouldn’t be, but spend enough time with Vox Machina and their warped sense of humor, and curious comforts begin to rub off on a person.  They took a moment, staring aimlessly out of the window where Jarrett was training Whitestone’s new militia in the courtyard below._

_“You need a distraction,” Zahra pushed herself off of the wall, tail flicking up behind her in fresh excitement.  “C’mon. I’ll show you something cool.”_

The main chamber is just as he remembers it.  The single torch at the entrance leaves the small room mostly in darkness, save for the flickering candles bracketing the altar shelf on the far wall.  The adrenaline leaves his body in a rush of breath, and Gilmore finds himself suddenly trembling.  He takes one step forward. Two steps.  A cold wind rushes through the crypt, biting through his thin night robes, and he stops.  He waits a moment, but the wind seems to have died, and there is no other movement.

“I… I’m not sure how this works,” his voice is soft, and shakes on the “w.”  That won’t do.  Gilmore clears the lump from his throat and squares his shoulders.  “Is that you, Raven Queen?” He gets no response.  Louder, then.

“I have a matter to discuss with you.”  That was better, he thinks.  A little wobbly in the middle, perhaps, but overall fairly strong.  Still, Gilmore is greeted only with silence.  He swallows back something that feels a little like a sob, or a scream, or something somewhere in between.  He starts walking again.

“I know you’re here. You _have_ to be here! _He said_ you were here!”

_“It’s… odd.”_

_“Pike has granted you and the rest of Vox Machina various blessings of Sarenrae before.  Is it really so much different than when you feel her power working through you?_

_“Yeah, it’s like…” Vax leaned forward in the armchair, setting his tea cup on the table.  He brought his hands up in front him as he spoke, moving them as though he could mold and shape the air between them until it showed Gilmore the idea Vax wanted him to understand.  It was cute, and Gilmore smiled._

_“When Pike gives us, say, her War God’s Blessing? You know? It’s this… it’s this warmth that starts here,” Vax brought one hand to his heart, and Shaun felt his own almost stop.  “And it just… it moves.  It spreads, like…” both hands were at his chest now, and Vax spread his fingers wide and slid them out to his shoulders, then back in across his collarbones, pale and soft peeking out over his linen tunic.  Most of the Deathwalker’s Ward lay in a careful pile by the door, ready to pulled back on if necessary.  Gilmore was glad for it – both for selfish reasons, and for the fact he could make Vax’ildan feel safe enough in this temporary home to shed such protection._

_“…and then that warmth, it… it pulses up,” splayed fingers moved up Vax’s open throat to linger at his jawline.  Gilmore absolutely did not hide his coloring cheeks behind his tea cup. He was a grown man with more self-control than that, and was simply thirsty at that particular moment. “-and then it just goes WHOOOSH!” Fingers curled into palms, hands turned into fists, and fists dropped to shoulders and swung outwards until they reached the end of their arc and fingers spread wide again and suddenly there was Vax, sitting on the edge of his chair with arms out in front of him and hands open and a ridiculous fucking look on his face, and Gilmore was laughing and Vax was laughing too and for that moment there was no Chroma Conclave, no smoldering ruin of Emon, just Gilmore’s living room and tea and good company._

_The dream did fade, however, and Vax settled back in his seat with a closed look on his face._

_“And the Raven Queen,” Gilmore pushed, because he had to, or this would get swept under the rug with all of the other small, frightening comments Vax makes when he thinks no one else is paying attention.  “She feels differently?”_

_“She’s cold,” Vax spoke softly. “She’s a cold chill that starts here,” he rubbed the tips of his fingers together, looking down at his hands. “And creeps deep, deep into my bones and my chest and pulls me away from everything that’s going on and I’m looking at it from far, far away.  And that cold is all around me and I know it’s her, and in her arms I know what needs to happen, what I need to do… and then I snap back into the thick of it and I do it and then it’s all over and there’s just…” Vax started tripping over his words, though this time his hands stayed still, clasped in front him as he hung his head.  “There’s just… a lingering chill.”_

_Gilmore reached out across the small table between them, and covered Vax’s hands.  They were tight, clutching at each other, and more than a little bit cold._

_“It must be so frightening.”_

_“It was, at first.” Vax still doesn’t look up.  “I had just gotten to the point where I… I wanted that warmth, that Pike has.  I wanted the power and the peace and the… the sunshine she seemed to get from Sarenrae.  I saw what it could do, you know? Against the Briarwood’s, the undead… the bright, radiant light… I wanted to be that.” Vax offers a weak smile. “And then Vex… died. And I did what I had to. I was… angry, and fearful, and… lashing out all over the place.”_

_“I didn’t want to be like, a shining beacon of light or anything, but this was so far from what I had in mind, and I was so sure that this would be such a terrible thing… I mean, it’s death.  I thought… well,” he shakes his head, leaning back a bit. “I thought I had just condemned myself to a life of darkness. Melodramatic, I know, but hang out with Percival long enough…” He laughed at that, and Gilmore felt something within him unclench at the same time Vax hands did.  The change of tone was welcome._

_“Things are better now?” he offered, hesitantly.  Vax hummed for a moment, under his breath._

_“I think… I think I understand her better, now.”  He smiles and opens his hands, letting their fingers wrap together.  “Having her here has really helped.”_

_“Here?”_

_“Percy built a bit of a shrine in one of the old crypts. It’s simple, and much smaller than anything Vasselheim could offer her, but… I think she’s happy with it, just how it is.  I mean, I can feel her there. Not just the cold, but her presence. I go in and I ask for her and she’s there, actually there, and it makes everything feel more real. Less like I’m going crazy, or “guiding fate,” or being dragged into something way above my paygrade, and more like… I’m just doing a job for her.”_

_“Pretty macabre job.”_

_“I suppose, but it’s just how things are, you know? Try to keep people alive, and if you can’t… make sure to take care of the dead. It’s not dark, or light, or good or evil. Death just… is.” Gilmore furrowed his brow._

_“It almost seems like you’re comforted by that.”_

_“Well, I am.” Vax shrugs. “That sort of power is far less frightening when you’re dealing with just, ‘to be or not to be,’ rather than a scales of fate, good and evil kind of thing.”_

_Gilmore chuckled a bit as he pulled his hands from Vax’s, leaning back into his armchair._

_“What is it with you and the theatre?”_

_“I’m a fan!” Vax defended himself playfully, finally pulling his own tea to him._

_“It’s gone cold by now,” Gilmore chided, and Vax just hummed as he sipped at the tepid brew. They sat in silence for a bit, comfortable. Gilmore was the first to break it._

_“For what it’s worth? All that peace and light and sunshine? I’m pretty sure that’s mostly just Pike.”_

_Vax laughed._

“He was your champion!” Shaun’s scream echoes off the polished stone walls. “He gave himself over to you! He was yours! Do something!” The room is still, and aside from his own lingering voice, silent.

“Why won’t you… do something…” the marble tile is cold against his knees, his hands, his forearms, as he slowly sinks to the ground.  Head slung low, nearly pressing against the ornate tile, Shaun begs. With hair in his face and fists white-knuckling against the unyielding floor, the words become harder to push out as his breath hitches. So he whispers, desperate.

“…do something. Please. Do something.” A mouse skitters against one of the walls. Moisture from the damp earth above is sneaking through a crack in the stone, the sound of it drip-dripping echoing through the crypt. The two candles around the bowl of blood continue to flicker. And flicker.

And extinguish.

The breeze is bone cold, but it’s soft.  It slides gently up Shaun’s spine, curling softly around his chest and shoulders and pushing his torso up until he kneels with wide-eyes and a straight back, eye level with the altar shelf.  It brushes against his trembling jaw, wisps of brisk air sneaking out and cooling the wet streaks down his cheeks and the tears still gathering in his lashes.

“You grieve for him, as I do,” it hums against his ears, soothing and frightening and gentle and terrible all at once and Gilmore finds himself marveling that Vax could speak so comfortably of this presence and its power. “He bore my mantle dutifully, and he fought just as fiercely as he loved. I was so very proud to call him mine. And yet-“

Shaun gasps as the wind rushes through him, and he feels a new, foreign sensation of such immense anger and sorrow and a tiny, burning desire to throw caution to wind and do whatever he has to in order to bring Vax’ildan back in all his living glory, to fight for him and shine for him and be his Chosen before it’s pushed forcefully back down, a heavy burden settling deep within his chest.

“There are laws of this world that I cannot allow to be broken, even for… _especially_ for, my own beautiful champion. As much as I may wish to.” The dark knot in his chest uncurls as the chilling gust of wind – no, the Raven Queen – moves out from him, coiling down his arms and wrapping around his shaking hands. Holding them. It almost feels like Vax.  Rather, he understands that Vax had begun to feel like her.  Shaun hangs his head, but does not pull away. The air coalesces into a tight dark shadow, and though he can not see her quite as clearly as Vax had described, he knows he kneels before the faceless apparition of the Queen herself.  She whispers to him.

“So, knowing this… what would you have me do?”

“Help him.” If it had been any other moment, Shaun would’ve been ashamed at how softly his voice trembles, but the time for shame has long passed. “The others, they’re doing the ritual right now. Please, help guide him back to us.”

The Raven Queen pauses for a moment, head cocked to the side as though she was listening to something far off in the distance.

“It is true, that the thread of his fate has not yet been cut,” a heavy sigh that might’ve been a sob escapes him, though the Queen continues before there is any time for relief. “But the thread is stretched thin, and his family… they are failing.”

“Failing?” His voice cracks and the Queen nods.

“My champion is tired, and longs for rest. Though part of him still calls out, the others also tire, and don’t quite have the power to pull him back in.” Shaun fumbles, searching his brain for anything that might help the resurrection ritual, but he already knows it’s too late.  Even if there was something, anything, he could do – there would be no way of getting back to the rest of Vox Machina in time now.

He drops his posture and sinks back onto his heels, arms hanging limply at his sides, and for the first time in a long while he feels truly useless.

“And there’s… there’s truly nothing you can do? You can’t aide them? Add your power to the ritual?” Her face is solemn as she follows his shift, spectral hands brushing aside his hair with startling care.  Shaun supposes she means to comfort. Somehow, even amongst the chill and lingering aura of death and dark magic she bears, it does help a little. Even if only because he knows someone else is hurting, someone who cares just as deeply and is bearing the pain beside him – someone else who wants to save Vax and must come to bear with the fact that they can’t. And doesn’t that surprise him most of all, how much the Raven Queen truly feels for her champion.

“I have the strength, but my magic cannot interfere in this. The consequences of such abuse of my station would be dire, and I cannot allow the fabrics to unravel, even for dear Vax’ildan. As for those on this plane who could lend their power… there’s a reason it takes so many people to aide in a resurrection. It takes so much power, so much magic. Most mortals don’t bear enough even in their entire body… and it seems-“ The Queen pauses another moment, suddenly far away.

“The thread tightens,” her voice is soft and sad, and Shaun closes his eyes. “The thread tightens, and they weren’t enough. It was already so damaged, and to add to it the fresh fraying of their failure…” the Queen reaches out to him, pressing a curl of dark wind firmly against the center of his forehead. The icy chill soothes over the sore, tender patch of skin left behind after his rune burst to life during the fight against Thordak. “Only the ancient magicks could heal it now, and mine is not allowed. And there is no more time to decide.”

Quiet falls in the crypt. Even the incessant dripping on the marble tile seems to fade away, and everything thing feels disconnected - as though there were nothing beyond the cold, quiet darkness of the Raven Queen’s encompassing tomb.

In the silence, Shaun Gilmore understands.

“You could use mine?”

The Raven Queen slowly pulls away from him. She doesn’t seem surprised, merely patient, and he wonders if she had always known what he would ask. If she had been leading him to this point all along.

“You said your magic couldn’t interfere, but you could use mine. You would just have to get it to him, to his- his… his ‘thread.’ You can do that at least, can’t you?”

“I can facilitate the transfer, but you understand,” The Queen begins. “The amount of magic you must give, to reach into the veil and pull him back before he passes the rest of the way... even if you survive, it will take all-“

“Do it.” Gilmore stands, knees aching and joints creaking as he pushes himself up from the cold floor. New and fierce determination burns in his veins, and he can hear his own heart pounding with the rush.

He can change Vax’s fate.

“I understand the cost. Just do it.”

The Raven Queen nods. She takes his face in her hands again, and presses her smooth forehead to his furrowed brow.  Gilmore thinks he hears a faint “Thank you.” Then, much in the same manner as she first appeared to him, she rushes through his body.

This time, the bone chilling cold quickly turns into searing fire. The room fills with bright light as the rune on Gilmore’s forehead explodes into being, golden beams illuminating the crypt as his very blood screams with his magic, racing along his arms and chest and legs. He thinks he might be screaming too. The pressure builds, crackling energy feeling like it’s shooting out and back into and below his skin. His robes whip around him in the gales of hot wind, and something in the room clatters to the floor.

Gilmore can’t make out what it was. Rather, he can make out too much. Everything feels tender and hot and all at once. He can hear Keyleth and Vex crying and he can smell the snow on top of the mountains and he can see the ley lines crisscrossing the continent. Crisscrossing Whitestone. One of the ley lines is glowing bright gold.  He knows it’s the one he stands on.

He knows it’s the one Vax is lying across as well.

Shaun knows too much, and it’s overwhelming. He’s drowning in his own magic as it consumes him.  His skin is raw and sensitive as the electric sensation rips through it; he tastes copper in his mouth as his power pushes further and faster and more forcefully from him. He wants it to stop, tries to will his energy back under his control but it doesn’t work. It keeps going and going above and beyond until finally everything else is muted – until all he can see is bright gold and all he can hear is his heart pumping his own blood faster than it should ever be flowing and all he can feel is the thousand tiny fiery pinpricks of overflowing magic across skin, blurring and flooding his senses until it’s just one big mass of hot pain.

Then it’s cold. And dark. And Gilmore is grateful.


	2. Lingering Sensations

“You all look so surprised.” His voice is a gravely croak as he pushes himself up.  Vox Machina crowds around him and Vax waves them away. They don’t listen. They never do. He groans as his elbows click and his back makes its displeasure known.  There’s a painful pulsing coming from somewhere in his abdomen. Keyleth’s hands are warm on his shoulders as she helps him.  He hopes whoever took off his armor was patient enough to undo the ties, rather than just cutting through them.  Re-lacing  the Deathwalker’s Ward would be a real bitch.

“It… it didn’t work. I mean,” Pike is babbling. Normally Keyleth babbles. A Pike who babbles makes him nervous. “It didn’t look like it worked. The diamond didn’t burst like it usually does, it just went all funky, and-“ The diamond falls from his lap as he moves, and Vax sees what she means.  Between his knees, the blackened, charred rock looks like nothing more than a hunk of charcoal on the… table.

“Am I on the kitchen table?” Vax winces at the raspiness of his own voice. Percival does the same. Vex hits him.

“Don’t talk if it hurts, you asshole!” It should probably hurt his shoulder more than it does, recently being dead and all, but as Vex collapses against his chest all he feels is cold tears against his skin and a muted throbbing sensation – like an old bruise that’s still a bit tender.  As he softly strokes his crying sister’s hair, that too feels a bit far away. The strands have always been soft, but he can barely feel them as they whisper through his fingers.  They slide by like ghostly silk rather the plush curls he’s used to. He wonders if he’s still in shock. It makes sense, what with his thoughts being so disconnected. He’s seen shock before.  Never been in it.  It’s weird. Everything feels dialed way down – each sensation floats by, almost ineffective.

“Should I be able to feel my face?” It comes out sounding right, even though he can barely feel his lips moving. Allura frowns at him.

“Yes, yes you should.” She gently ushers his friends back from him, and cradles Vax’s face in her hands. Her touch is feather light. “Curious,” she hums, staring at him intently. He was never as good at reading faces as his sister was, but in this moment he can feel the surprise and curiosity brewing behind Allura’s usually impassive expression. There’s a phantom feeling, like an idea clicking into place, but something deeply unsettling in Vax's gut has him thinking that the feeling isn’t his own.

“As the ritual came to end, after the diamond turned black, there was a burst of power. Whatever happened, whatever was different this time… it seems to have left some residual magic lingering in your body.” It was like the game he and Vex had played as children, ducking their heads under the bathwater and trying to make out what the other was saying above, laughing at the mangled words and phrases they thought they’d heard. Vax tries to listen as intently as he can.  He focuses really hard on Allura’s voice, and the fog seems to move away.  It doesn’t clear completely, rather it shifts to the side. The concerned murmuring of his friends around him fades entirely, and the edges of his vision swim and blur – it creates a sharp kaleidoscope, and at the end of it he can see and hear and understand Allura perfectly.

“What’s happening?” Vax begins to panic. “What are you doing to me? The hell is this-” his concentration slips away, and the tunnel vision goes with it. The rest of the room filters back in, though still a bit softer than he’s used to. His mind, thankfully, is at least a bit clearer now.

“It’s okay,” Allura assures him as Vex and Keyleth both step closer, worried expressions on their their faces.  “I know it feels odd, but I believe it’s only temporary – a lingering effect from the magic it took to pull you back.”

“Okay, sure, but what _is_ it?” His family echoes his concerns, a chorus of ‘what’s going on’ and ‘Vax, what’s wrong’ rippling around the room. Their worry is tangible, crackling around them like a cold snap before a storm.  It’s incredibly disconcerting.

“I believe you are experiencing a phenomena linked to arcane magic, one that will fade away as the residual energy leaves your body.”

“Impedimentum Arcana?” Scanlan hops up, inviting himself onto the table beside Vax. “I thought that was just a theory.”

“Technically, yes, but only because no one has ever experienced both versions of natural perception.”

“Still very confused here, guys,” it’s getting a little easier for Vax to make sense of the room, the fuzziness bleeding away a bit when he hones in on something.  It always comes back, with muted edges and muffled senses, but it’s starting to become controllable.  He’s not sure whether or not that’s a good thing.

“There’s a theory in the arcane circles of magic,” Allura steps back, allowing the fidgeting ranger at her elbow to swoop back in against her brother.  “Centuries ago, a visit between a druid emissary and an arcane practitioner caused intensive debate throu-“

Vex’s hands dart over his chest, prodding at bruises and fresh scars and the newly healed gash across Vax’s stomach. He feels the pressure, but the once familiar touch is distant and foreign, as though he were being prodded with a stick rather than his sister’s fingers.  Vax focuses on his twin and as the history lesson disappears into the background, the softness and warmth of Vex’s hands seeps in.  He relishes the comfort, and it’s hard to let it fade away as he tunes back in to Allura.

“-ccidentally revealed during teatime conversation, that arcane casters might experience sensation differently than natural casters.” She continues, unaware of Vax’s fleeting inattention. “Compared to natural and divine casters who facilitate the flow of the world’s natural magic or their deity’s power through their bodies, arcane casters must house all of their magic within. The prevailing theory is that this thick compression of magic builds up enough pressure to create a tight aura along the skin, forming an arcane barrier between the caster and the world around them.”

“Such a barrier would typically muffle the physical senses, but enhance any magical insights into the world around.” Allura continues as Vax stares down at his hands.  If he squints, he thinks he can see it – a blurry golden edge around the tips of his fingers.

“Focusing on a stimulus should move the barrier aside, allowing for the caster to hone in with both arcane _and_ physical senses, but no one really knows for sure. Arcane casters grow into their powers, and this manipulation comes so naturally that I couldn’t honestly tell you which senses are magical and which aren’t.  When my attention turns to something, so does my magic. I’ve never experienced relying on purely physical sensation, just as a non-magic user could never experience arcane insight. We say that we “see” and “hear,” because that’s what we know these senses are called, but it’s entirely plausible that Scanlan and I are experiencing an entirely different set of responses than, say, Vex and Percy are.”

Vax turns to Scanlan.

“It’s like this for you too?”

“Like what,” Scanlan swings his feet, eyeing Vax curiously. “Sorta soft at the edges, unless you pay attention? Things you can’t quite make out but somehow still kinda understand? Background noise nothing but a vague murmur, and you can’t trust the sounds to tell you what’s going on so you have to learn to trust this strange gut instinct to tell you how to read the room?”

“Yes, yes exactly!” Vax is eager now, finally on the brink of answers. “That’s it, then? That’s what it’s like for you all the time?”

“No, not really.”

But Scanlan is grinning.

“…you’re a little shithead, you know that? You know I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Vax feels a little lighter, but a thin cloak of concern drapes around him. He reaches for it, but it slips away, and he realizes it wasn’t his cloak.

“You sound as though you hate it,” Allura questions, gaze pinned on Scanlan. “As though you would rather live restricted to sight and sound, the unreliability of the physical world without the guiding sensation of the arcane-“

“Hey, I didn’t come up in a fancy magic boarding school, surrounded by scholars and arcana pensoph-… pennaphil… pencilsandpopsicles, okay?” Allura’s expression is hard to make out, a little blurry still unless he squints, but Vax can feel the ire pulsing orange around her. “I didn’t get taught how to read the mystical tuning fork. I was a kid and I was playing with other kids in a big ol’ city and they would tell me things and I wouldn’t understand any of it.  I didn’t ‘get’ my magic. All I knew was that I couldn’t see the things they saw or hear the things they heard, and my body would try to tell me things I didn’t understand and in the end, well...”

Tender territory. A rawness in the air that wasn’t there before.

“I learned to listen to the magic eventually, but not soon enough. If I hadn’t mistaken those fucking war horns for my friends whistling outside, or saw their stupid goblin faces and weapons instead of a vague blip that might’ve been traders on the horizon, then maybe my mother would still be here.”

“I’m sorry,” Allura murmurs, surprised, stepping back and bowing her head.  “I… I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t,” Scanlan sighs. His shoulders fall, and with them so does the tightly strung tension in the air.  The silence that follows tastes sad.

“That’s really what it’s like for you, though?” Vex cuts in. She has that little furrow in her brow she gets whenever she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “I had no idea… you always seem to be on the same page as the rest of us.”

“Well, I mean, I am now…” Scanlan draws out his consonants, like he tends to do, but this time Vax hears snippets of words, starting and stopping and changing and flitting about in each long drag.  He knows Scanlan is searching for the perfect phrase, because if he doesn’t say it just right then he won’t be heard right. Suddenly, Vax knows that everytime Scanlan lingered a little long on an “L” or hummed a bit on an “M” this is what he was doing.  What he’ll always be doing. And Vax knows when Scanlan finds the right ones. It’s really fucking weird.

“…it’s just that my page is in a different language than yours.”

“You don’t seem like you’re using a ‘different language,’” Percy chimes in. “You look up at the same sounds that startle us, for instance.”

“Yeah, because they startle you.” Scanlan rolls his eyes. “I follow your lead.  You guys go all wonky, the air changes, and I know something’s up.”

“That’s so funky,” Keyleth crinkles her nose, and Vax smiles at her. He realizes she’s holding his hand. He’s a little sad he didn’t notice.  He tightens his own grip, and Keyleth gives him a weak smile before continuing.

“To think that we’re seeing different things… or I guess, not seeing things, or feeling things that no one can describe to the other because no one’s ever felt both-”

“No one until now,” Allura seems to have shaken off her discomfort at pushing Scanlan too far, and Vax hears the _click-click-click_ of the wheels turning in her head. “You are the only person in the world to have experienced both unfiltered physical sensation _and_ the Impedimentum Arcana. This could be revolutionary.”

“Um,” Vax coughs a bit, letting go of Keyleth’s hand and wiping his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants. At least there’s one perk of the situation – sweat is far less bothersome when you can barely feel it. “I sort of, you know, died a little while ago.  And there all these new… _things_ I have to get used to, hopefully only for a little bit, but still, and… well, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to be ‘revolutionary’ yet.”

“Oh, of course! I’m so sorry.” Things might be a touch blurry, but Vax isn’t blind.  And he would have to be to miss the embarrassment flushing red across Allura’s pale skin.  “This must be so overwhelming-“

“That’s… that’s one word for it, yeah.”

“Why are we still in the kitchen, then!” Perk number two: Vex’ahlia forgetting herself and yelling directly into his ear? Far less painful when filtered through a magic cottonball. “C’mon brother, let’s get you upstairs and under some furs, yeah? You’ve had a long day.”

So sure, this whole residual mystical barrier thing might take some getting used to, but at the end of the day Vax is alive. Stumbling up a staircase, with Keyleth under one arm, Percival under the other, and Vex complaining about the stench of his armor as she holds the bundle of leather and feathers as far away from her face as she can, he figures the evening could have gone a whole lot worse.

He’ll have to remember to ask about the laces.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Scanlan. Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, Grog, I will absolutely go whoring with you to celebrate our narrow escape from an ancient bitchass dragon.”

“No, I mean… yeah, I abso _l_ _utely_ wanna do that, but like…” They stop in the main entryway of the castle, as their friends continue half carrying Vax up to his room.  Scanlan turns toward the door leading to the rest of Whitestone.

“I was wonderin’ something else.”

“Well go ahead big guy!” Grog doesn’t know a whole lot, but he does know it’s weird to be smiling so much after telling all your friends something like that.

“You don’t… you don’t really talk about your mum much.”

“No. No I do not,” Scanlan pushes open the double doors with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.  “And I don’t particularly want to talk about it anymore-“

“No, no I get that, see… I don’t really like talkin’ about some stuff sometimes, but like… I feel bad.”

“It happened a long time ago, Grog,” the night air is a cool against his skin after that warm kitchen, and Scanlan opens up with his magic and lets it wash across him.  “Don’t feel bad, I’ve come to terms with it. We’re supposed to be celebrating tonight, remember? Let’s go celebrate!” He picks up his pace a little. Grog just takes longer steps.

“I know that, I just mean…what was her name?”

“Huh?”

“What was your mum’s name?”

Scanlan nearly runs face first into the gate surrounding the castle.  He leans against the iron bars to steady himself.

“I realized,” Grog stumbles over his words a bit. “I don’t even know her name, an’ I know the rest of everybody’s family’s names. I know Willham an’ Korbin an’ Sallydoor an’ then uh… there’s all of Percy’s, an’ he’s got like, a whole lot of ‘em, but I think there’s maybe a Jo… Jonah? Joderick? Jossowski? Some fancy fuckin’ shit like that. But you're my best buds, you and Pike, and I don’t know anythin’ about your mum. I feel bad… ’m sorry I didn’t ask before.”

Scanlan runs one hand over his face, and isn’t honestly sure if he wants to laugh or cry.

“Juniper. Her name was Juniper.”

“Oh, _that’s_ a pretty name. Juniper. I’ll remember that one, I promise.

“I’m sure you will, buddy,” Scanlan smiles. “Now come on, let’s party!” The two set out into the night on a mission: to find the one functioning brothel in Whitestone.

“Oh, Scanlan, I got one more question.”

“Yeah man?”

“All that, you know, important stuff in there, about uh… Vax, an’… magic, and things.”

“Uh huh.”

“What, uh… what were they… maybe you could explain that to me, ‘cuz I got no fuckin’ clue what they were talkin’ about in there.”

“Oh, uh… Vax got a bunch of new magic in him when we brought him back, so now his body’s doing weird stuff.

“Oh. Like… like how I’m a super awesome amazing sorcerer, and… and my farts are like, _really_ bad?”

“…yeah Grog. Just like that.”

“Haha. Cool.”

 

* * *

 

Kynan’s the one that finds Shaun in the morning.

The resurrection was failing. It _had_ failed. He was present when they revived Lord De Rolo - 

_"Oh god," he had said. "Please don’t ever call me that again, just… no."_

\- and that time, the diamond had burst, shattering into a divine blanket of shimmering dust. Kynan might’ve have only seen that one ritual, but even a butcher’s son from the slums knows that in such a case, a diamond crumbling and rotting into a black husk is not a good sign.  He didn’t want to watch anymore, and was about to slink away from his hiding point as silently and as mournfully as he had arrived, when that burst of bright gold light spewed forth from the gaping, bleeding gash in Vax’s stomach.

Alhough it didn’t seem like the Raven Queen’s style, based on the snippets of information he had gleamed when Vax didn’t know Kynan was listening in - 

_"...that darkness in her… she scares me, she really does, but hell... sometimes I scare me too."_

\- he couldn’t imagine that power coming from anything else. It certainly wasn’t from any of Vox Machina. Strong as they are, they just weren’t enough.  So he stole away from the barracks at first light, and found his way to the crypt he'd watched the half-elf steal away to a time or too before.  It took longer than he hoped to find the room he needed, running into a few false starts and an empty chamber or two, but this path... this path feels right.

There’s an emptiness to the hall as he lets his fingers trail against the engravings in the marble stone, going down, down, down.  It’s neither comfortable nor unsettling, just a feeling of vast nothingness, a moment outside of time that makes Kynan feel small and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. He figures this would perhaps frighten most people, but after everything… he’s rather content to not be a part of some grand machination or some greater purpose – to just be Kynan for a little while, some kid from Emon, in a pretty stone staircase.

__

The chamber at the end of the stairs is _not_ empty, but it is dark.  Kynan fumbles with his kit for a moment, procuring some flint and a small torch. He’s gotten pretty good at lighting these things, and he lifts the flame high as it flickers to life.  It’s a smaller room than he expects, but his single speck of torchlight isn’t quite enough to illuminate all of the walls at once. The darkness presses in around him, and he lifts the light higher.  Slowly, the far wall comes into clear view.  A bowl sits on the altar shelf, but there were supposed to be candles. 

_"Oh, and Vax wants us to pick up two new candles for the Raven Queen while we’re out – nice ones, Vex, it’s important to him."_

Where were the candles?

__

Kynan lowers the torch, and light creeps across the stone. Two tapered wax cylinders lie messy and broken on the floor, empty brass holders beside them in a similar state, next to a crumpled pile of muddied purple silk and white linen and dark hair.

__

“Oh god… M-mister Gilmore, sir?” 

_"Well don't just lurk in the doorway all day, boy, come help me with this." Nervous. Didn't mean to wander into this room. Doesn't know the first thing about - "That's all right, I’ll show you what you can do, no magic required. Vax says you're a smart kid, you’ll pick it up quickly."_

Kynan creeps forward, keeping the flame low. Gilmore’s face is pale, even in the sweeping orange light. His forehead is cold against the back of Kynan’s palm as he reaches out, carefully brushing away black curls to reveal closed eyes and furrowed brow. The pained whine slipping past burgundy lips hardly befits a man as impressive as Gilmore.

__

Kynan pulls his hand away as if burned.

__

”S-sorry, I-” 

Gilmore moans again, the pitiful noise an odd contrast to his usual impression of the man - 

_"Gilmore's up on the ramparts again, isn’t he. Of course he is-" Jarrett sighs "-the way the new ones are aiming. All the fresh recruits lose their damn senses whenever he strolls by, Marquesian bastard." The tone is fond, though. "I have enough trouble training these fools without their codpieces telling them when to fire."_

\- and his hands hover, uncertain, above the shivering body.

__

”Too loud…" It's barely more than a gasp. "Too cold… too much… make it stop.. ” Gilmore must have caught a fever lying here through the night, after whatever it was that happened. And Kynan decides that _that_ particular riddle can wait to be solved until after getting him safely back into someone's care.

__

“I… shit. Um, wait… wait here, fuck, I… I’ll be right back, I promise.”

__

Jarrett jogs out to meet him when he’s halfway back to the castle.

__

”I saw you running from the ramparts,” he huffs, still a bit winded from his injuries in Emon. “What’s wrong?”

__

He follows at no more than a mention of his friend's name, and Kynan shows him back to the crypt. In spite of Gilmore’s weak attempts to shy away from each touch, they manage to lift and carry the shaking sorcerer to his home just outside of the heart of the city proper. They lay him in his bed, watching him twist against his furs and kick them away,  _too much too much too much_ on a broken loop that slows until he finally fades back into unconscious. Jarrett looks at Kynan, hand wavering hesitantly over Gilmore's shoulder.

__

”Go find Pike.”

__

 

__


	3. Sleep, Or The Lack Thereof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of a time skip here, jumping back a few hours for a bit at start before we pick up where we left off with Gil. I hope it still makes sense enough for you all!

Vex reaches out to him. The dress is bright, vivid emerald green. Golden jewelry, finest elven craftsmanship, glints from where it dangles from her neck, her ears, her hair. It looks beautiful, feels wrong. The dress is blue. The jewelry is handcrafted, clumsy, adorned with feathers. Better. The feather from her hair shines. It hurts Vax’s eyes. She spins him around the floor. The gold vein in the white marble lights up with each step as they twirl around the ballroom. Syngorn watches. Vex’s smile is blinding. Vax tentatively grins back. He doesn’t like all the eyes on them.

The eyes are gone.  The marble is a dirt forest floor. The sun filtering through the canopy is sharp, piercing. Vax squints against it. It doesn’t help. Vex is still laughing. She leans against trinket. The dress is getting dirty. Shadows play across her face as the leaves rustle. The smell of wet earth is pungent. It invades Vax’s senses until all he smells and feels and tastes is earth all around him. He coughs up dirt. He coughs up water. He pulls himself from the tunnel in the sunken tomb. The stone is cold, freezing ice shooting through his hands and arm. Vex lies on the ground, asleep.

Asleep.

 _Asleep_.

Percy kneels beside her, stricken. The nebulous shadow takes form behind him. Dark and menacing and deep purple. Keyleth reaches out to it. Vax reaches out to stop her. She touches the violet smoke. It bursts forth into bright royal purple satin rolling out alongside reams of shining gold silk and it drapes over everyone and everything and Gilmore is splendid and sparkling and warm in Vax’s arms and he breathes in deep and is awash in sandalwood and jasmine and the very desert sun itself shines from beneath Shaun’s skin and it beats down on him and sand is in his face and the wind whips his hair around.

Ank’harel shimmers in the distance as the brass dragon roars, soaring overhead. Their scales reflect the hot light and the oranges and yellows and reds of Marquet shift and change until Vax no longer has the words to describe their vibrancy, sharp colors he’s never seen before.  His eyes ache and burn and he wishes for the cool dark of the crypt and the water _drip-drips_ from the ceiling as the wind grows still. The candles are on the floor, broken. He picks them up, and places them back on the shelf next to the bowl. He doesn’t light them. Vax is done with all the brightness. He peers into the small bowl of the Raven Queen’s blood. Her blood? Her champions’? Her followers’?

The deep red ripples and shimmies. It leaks from the sides of the bowl, across the floor and up the walls of the crypt. It fades into an inky blackness. The Raven Queen brushes through his hair, sharp wind tangling the braids and beads and she stands before him, resplendent. Where once was just black robes and black feathers and black hair now stands a woman iridescent against the darkness of the void. As though he were looking at her for the first time, through lenses tempered by all the magics of the universe, he can _see_ her. Her robes shift in the breeze, deep greens and azure blues shining on the edge of the feathers, catching an unseen unknown light and reflecting across deep velvet red fabrics.  He can see each strand of her hair, floating mirthfully in the air around her as though they were playing together under the water, so deeply and sweetly dark it seems an abyssal purple running through his fingers. She brings her face close to his. _Her face._ Golden eyes shine as burgundy lips part, brushing against his cheek. She whispers, but her voice rings loud and warm and echoes for miles, for years, for centuries.

_“My Champion…”_

Vax jolts awake, flinging himself upright and panting, blankets pooling at his waist. His thoughts feel like one big jumble, and he presses a hand to his forehead. It’s wet when he pulls it away.

“You feel feverish… are you okay?” Keyleth’s voice is much farther away than it should be. Vax shakes his head, trying to clear it of the strange, lingering sensation.

“I… I’m fine,” he tries to concentrate on her like he had on Allura before, and slowly she comes into focus at his shoulder. Her hands are on him, one on his chest and the other cradling the back of his neck – soft and blessedly cool against his flushed skin, he leans into the touch with stark relief – and Vax realizes he’s sweating. He shrugs off the touch, reaching for the blanket to wipe his face and neck. “Just a bad dream.” Keyleth bats his hands away and presses a cold, wet cloth to his collarbone.

“Lean back, Vax.” She takes her time, gently pushing him back when he doesn’t move and pressing the cloth against his neck. He finds he doesn’t have to focus so hard like this, relaxed and reclined against the pillows and blankets of their bed. Rather than push all of his thoughts _towards_ Keyleth, he just lets everything that _isn’t_ her and that divine, cold cloth slip further and further away. She slides the wet linen along his jaw, leaving a light kiss on his lips before moving back down to his chest.  The night air wicks away the water in its wake, sharp and refreshing in Vax’s nearly meditative state. Everything feels normal and soft, in this little bubble of moonlight where the dragons are gone and magical side effects don’t matter because the only things here are Keyleth and the wind and he can feel both of them just fine.

“Why’d you have a washcloth?” he murmurs as the fabric leaves a trail of cool water along his hipbone. Keyleth dips it back in the bowl, ringing out the excess before returning it to Vax’s navel.

“Because I know how warm you get during your nightmares. And Vex told me about the nightmares she had after, you know… coming back, so I figured…” Vax hums as he stretches beneath her hands, feeling very much like the cat that ate the canary and feeling no shame for it.

“I like how you figured. You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Huh? Oh, I, well, I mean… you know…” Keyleth fumbles with the cloth, and it lands on Vax’s thigh. “…uh, yeah. I mean. Uh huh.” She sits up straighter, brushing her short hair from her face and adopting a strong set to her shoulders. Vax smiles when she tilts her head up, strong chin jutting forward like she does when trying to impress someone.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I know you do, Kiki… lay back down with me? I think I’ll sleep through the rest of the night.”

A light breeze shifts the thin curtains, and as Vax settles back down with Keyleth in his arms he senses something… different. Something that's not really a touch feeling, or a smell feeling, or a sight feeling… but a strange combination of the three. It's a soft warm glow and smooth skin and honeysuckle on a spring breeze all at once and something more, a humming energy of life and light and exuberance, and it's… content. Which makes him sad. Vax can’t place why, but it feels bittersweet - as if it should be truly full and happy instead of just content and soft. It's touched just a bit on the edges with a hint of regret, of missed chances, of wanderlust. Deep inside of him, like an ancient instinct finally clicking into place, he knows that the strange new sensation _is_ Keyleth, pure and unadulterated, in that moment with him. He gazes at her, running one hand through her hair as she curls into his side.

Vax begins to drift back into unconsciousness, though one unsettling thought clings on tightly. He isn’t sure which of them those dark, regretful edges belong to.

 

* * *

 

It takes Shaun longer than it should to realize the world he walks in isn’t the waking one. He hasn’t had sand beneath his toes since he left Marquet. Gentle waves lap against the beach shore, the day overcast and grey but not uncomfortable. Gulls call to him somewhere far in the distance. An easy breeze floats in from beyond the ocean, making his white linen shift cling to his body with the sea-spray as he closes his eyes and takes a moment to relax in the serenity of it all. If this peaceful sort of rest was what laid in store for him now that, well… Shaun could find himself getting used to this.

Aside from him, the sandbar he stands on is empty. Until it isn’t.

“Did it work,” he breathes into the wind, not bothering to open his eyes. He knows who stands beside him. “Did I… was I enough?”

“You were.” The Raven Queen’s voice is clearer in this world - like the tolling of the school tower bell when he was a child, calling him home at sunset. Shaun leans into it. Warm feathers brush his shoulder, and a cold hand slips into his.

“Vax lives?”

“Vax’ildan lives.”

“Good… good,” he hums, letting his shoulders relax and entwining his fingers with hers. “That’s our boy.”

“Yes it is,” there’s a warmth in the Raven Queen’s voice that Shaun hadn’t heard at the crypt. It’s a fondness, of a sort, and he is again struck by the wonder that such an ancient and powerful deity could be just as wrapped around Vax’s little finger as he is. “-and truly, thank you, for your sacrifice given to save my champion has endeared you to be just as much mine as Vax’ildan is.”

“My Lady, I am honored,” he opens his eyes and turns to her, for the first time able to fully see her form. Her long jet hair billows in the coastal wind, though her dark feathered robes do not.  The pale, faceless guise is sharper, and in spite of its featureless expression Gilmore can still see high cheekbones and a slim jaw, remnants of what once must have been a very lovely young woman.  He forces himself to meet the gaze of the inky black voids where her eyes should be, and he finds he is no longer quite so afraid of them. Rather, their darkness looks cool and inviting, and Shaun imagines he could lose himself in them quite easily.

“-but I’m not sure how much use I can be to you, now that I’m… your dominion is over the moment of death, not beyond it, correct?”

“Oh, my darling Gedemore,” the Raven Queen chuckles. “You should not be so quick to take my hand.” She lifts their joined palms and leaves a gentle kiss on Gilmore’s knuckles. “You merely sleep, as your body recovers.”

“I’m… sleeping?” He scans the seascape, shocked. “My dreams have never been this quiet, this… this soft.” The light glow about the scene - the muted sounds and the easy flow of the water and sand, the sensation of peace and no inclination to rush – had seemed more a part of the quiet realm he imagined the dead would inhabit, rather than the usual vibrant, disjointed nature of his unshackled mind. “I thought… you had mentioned a sacrifice?”

“Yes. There is a lot that will be new for you as a result of that sacrifice, in both your dreams and your reality.” The Raven Queen seems to grow sad, pitying even. She drops Gilmore’s hand and reaches instead for his face, brushing her fingers against his jaw as she speaks softly. “What you did for him, dear knight of my champion… it took _so much magic_ to reach him.”

Dawning realization settles in like the sudden charge in the air before a storm. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

“It took all of it…” Shaun whispers, more to himself than the Raven Queen. “My… my magic, it’s… gone? All of it?” The breeze turns into a blustering wind and the waves crash more angrily against the sandbar. The Raven Queen takes hold of the back of Shaun’s neck and presses her forehead to his, and the sea calms before it can get too out of hand. The gentle raindrops that begin falling, however, do not stop.

“I was so very impressed with you, knight,” she croons to him, wrapping arms and robes and feathers and hair around him as his shoulders begin to shake. “I too believed I would be ushering you into the next world, but you were so strong. I do not envy you, having to learn to live without what once was your lifeblood, but I have faith you will find your way. Our champion still needs your help, you will have to show him how.”

When the Chroma Conclave first attacked Emon, Shaun had never imagined this to be the ending of that story – Vax’ildan alive, but Shaun's magic ripped from him in return, almost wishing he had died instead, and seeking comfort in the arms of an ancient deity of death. He struggles to pull himself under control, tugging away from the Raven Queen, but she keeps him held close and he surrenders, losing himself in her caress and for the moment uncaring of how he may look. The rain keeps falling. His magic, his _rune_ , gifted to him by D’vossa, by J’mon Sa Ord themself and carried in his very blood for thirty some odd years, _gone._ Shaun feels like a child, small and trembling, but the Raven Queen stands strong and ever present against him. Though he is, embarrassed he feels no judgment from her. He remembers she used to be mortal, and wonders if she'd had a similar moment after her own world changed so dratistically.

After a few more minutes, he is able to pull himself together and he steps away from her as Glorious Gilmore once again.  He uselessly wipes his face with the rainwater soaked sleeve of his shift, and clears his throat. His thinks to apologize, but she is already nodding at him and turning, feet barely brushing the ground as she begins walking along the sea.

“You say I must show him, what exactly? What else happened during the ritual?”

“A few curious things,” the Raven Queen muses, drifting slowly ahead of him.  He quickens his pace for a moment to reach her side, down the long stretch of sand as the clouds begin to clear, and they move slowly and unhurriedly towards where it disappears into the far distance. “Even I am unsure how to explain the event to you. You will understand his questions when you have the answers he needs.”

“Ah, naturally. As such things always go, is it not? Cryptic and frustratingly serene?” She laughs at him, and he smiles at her, and they stroll along the expanse of ocean shore. The sun peeks out as he tells her all about The Shits and Vox Machina’s trials before her sunken temple, and how he never could have imagined that little ragtag group would grow so strong. The greyness of the day turns to soft blue as she tells him of Purvan and his righteousness and noble quests in her name, and how very different the puckish Vax is, but she thinks she kind of likes it better this way because Purvan didn’t know how to braid hair or pull pranks. Gilmore tells her he will suggest to Vax that he braid her hair the next time they meet, and the Raven Queen tells him she would like that.

He drifts into consciousness slowly, with a peace he hasn’t felt since his was a child sharing a bed with his parents. He blinks lazily, and Pike Trickfoot’s blurry face snaps into focus mere inches from his own with alarming clarity.


	4. Consequences

Splitting, searing pain – a dagger of white hot iron stabbing through his skull. He had been struck before, even several times in the battle against Thordak and Raishan, but Gilmore had never felt anything so debilitating as this. He falls back on his mattress dizzy and gasping.

“Woah hey, don’t sit up so fast,” Jarrett chides him, the once comforting accent of his homeland suddenly sharp and grating. Pike is frowning at him, rubbing the red spot where she and Shaun had bonked heads.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I shouldn’t have been leaning in so closely. Are you okay?” He still can’t seem to find his breath, white spots fading in and out of his vision.

“I…” his throat is raw, and coughing to clear it only makes things ten times worse. Every hack sends another wave of tight tension through his body, and for a moment Shaun truly believes he woke from his walk with the Raven Queen only to be ushered back into her arms. Jarrett helps him sit up, Gilmore’s arms shaking and straining beneath a torso that has never seemed this heavy before. Pike is saying something, but the pain emanating from his throat courses through his chest with each cough, and his head is too dizzy with the feeling to make out the words. A cool potion slips through his lips, and it may be the most divine moment Shaun has ever experienced.

Certainly, it must be a potion. It has to be. No water has ever tasted so clear and cold, or been so soft and gentle on his throat, but as his muscles relax and the coughing stops – it certainly looks like that’s all that’s in the cup young Kynan Leore is holding, wide-eyed and with shaking hands.

“Mister… Mister Gilmore, sir. Is… are you…”

“Shaun,” it hurts again, to try and speak. His voice is raspy, but the water did help, and this time he manages. “Call me Shaun, please, Kynan. And thank you, for the… water?”

“I… um, your welcome. It… it was the least I could do.”

“You’re still a little feverish,” Pike’s hand is on his forehead now, cold against his flushed skin. She drags her thumb roughly over the sore spot left from where Shaun had jolted upright into her – but no, that can’t be right. Pike is always gentle, especially when using her bedside manner. He narrows his vision, blinking against her palm and shifting his senses to her. Nothing changes. He nearly faints again when he realizes that nothing is changing because he can already hear and see and feel her in sharp, blinding relief – in fact, he can hear and see and feel _everything._

There’s no natural magnifying focus on the subject of his attention, no softness around the edges. He can hear Jarrett and Kynan murmuring together at the same time he feels the light breeze from the window playing with his hair at the same time he sees Pike’s concerned expression shift into one of true worry. Even just staring blankly ahead at her, mouth agape and entirely unfocused, he can see every tiny movement in her face indicating a change of mood – the furrow appearing in the center of her brow, the corners of her lips giving a tiny tick downward, her eyelids narrowing and pupils zoning in on his own, _everything._ It’s so detailed, he can pinpoint the shift in her feelings even without the usual accompanying change in his arcane perceptions of her.

Typically, he has to rely on his insight sensations to notice when the grey tension of concern surrounding her shifts to a stormy blue energy crackling around, indicating a Pike ready to pull divine energy into the fight against whatever may be ailing a friend. To be able to understand her so clearly without those arcane impressions is-

Shaun realizes, slowly at first, and then all at once. It isn’t only that shift he’s missing - he has no arcane perception of Pike. At all. No divine golden hum backlighting the sensation of a fresh breeze and tinkling chimes. No shining silver hiding a playful blue spark. No tendrils of tentative curiosity reaching out against the auras of others, seeking to find whatever it is that might be needed. Just Pike’s physical form. He looks at Jarret, and Kynan, only to find minutely detailed face and bodies. No auras. No scents of spiced coffee on hot desert breezes, or phantom sensations of a gifted leather hilt gripped tightly in hand.

Oh. That’s right. His magic.

It settles deep and heavy in his stomach, black and ominous, like the orb spinning beneath Whitestone. He had said he understood what he was losing, but to already be faced with this stark and sudden change, a massive upheaval of not just the things he would be capable of doing but of literally how he sees and understand the whole world around him, the implications are…

Something inside of him twists and churns, jumping and twitching and convulsing and contracting. A stab of sensation pierces somewhere just under his sternum – not quite pain, but something very close and sweet Saranrae it’s weird to be feeling something entirely new and not quite right within his own body and to not even have a name for it. Without any further warning his chest is hitching and acid is racing quickly up his throat, and gods it brings such _fire_ with it. Pike quickly angles him off of the bed, jerking his shoulder as she pulls him to lean over the side. Jarrett finds a bucket and holds his hair.

It hurts and it won’t stop and he can’t breathe. He’s thrown up before, but it’s never felt like this. It’s never burned his throat and his nose like this, never ached in the back of his jaw like this as muscles pulse and convulse and keep his mouth forced open. Shaun can feel the skin beneath his lower eyelids puffing up, and even the tears creeping out from the corners bring a salty, stinging pain. The torrent ends, leaving him doubled over and gasping for breath. A single strand of saliva stretches from the bucket to his lower lip, and he can’t quite seem to break it off himself. Pike kindly reaches out, dabbing at his chin and lips with her blue scarf. Sweat pools hot and sticky along his neck and collarbone and small of his back, sliding obnoxiously slowly down between his shoulder blades his arms. Gilmore can feel every drop creeping along its path, skin lighting up with maddening sensation along their slow trails. It’s another moment before he feels strong enough to pull away, easing back from the bucket to sit upright on the edge of his bed.

“Does everything always hurt so much?” he croaks out, wiping at the corner of his mouth with a shaking hand.Kynan passes him a cold, wet cloth. He buries his face in it. Pike looks at him quizzically, reaching up and brushing the few locks Jarrett missed out of his face.

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Shaun winces, her voice unnaturally loud and piercing in his ear as her fingers tug roughly through his hair. He is sure it’s meant to be more of a soft, reassuring gesture, but her hand falls heavy on his head and it sends pinpricks shooting through his scalp as each caught strand yanks on sensitive skin. Now Shaun is a smart man, and with his thoughts no longer racing he can put two and two together. Pike has always been gentle with her touches before, this sort of sharp force is uncharacteristic of her – unless, of course, she is being just as careful as she usually is, and he is the one who has changed.

The Arcana Pensophical must have been right about the barrier. Allura is going to be so smug. Pike reaches out to him again, another question visibly poised behind pursed lips. Gilmore cuts her off.

“Can we… speak a bit more softly, for a time?” He tries on a weak smile as he moves away from her hands. It takes more effort than anticipated, his body sluggish and unwilling. He wonders how much of his magic wasn’t just humming in his blood, or wrapped tightly within the Impedimentum Arcana. Perhaps some of it had been worked into the very fabric of his body, woven into his muscles and pushing and pulling and guiding them alongside his own physical effort. That doesn’t bode very well for him, moving forward. Pike pulls her hands back as he shifts. Her expression is hard to place, a picture he isn’t quite familiar with, and he has no impression of her energy to help gauge her mood.

“Is this better?” She drops her voice, humming at him quietly and in a lower register. Gilmore nods his head slowly, lest the room begin spinning again. So that handles the volume problem. Now let’s see…

Jarrett moves to his side, squinting his own eyes to get a better look. As he moves from in front of the window, the detail in Gilmore’s vision spikes dramatically. The light stands out too sharply from the shadows, glinting off of hair and skin and jewelry, and he feels a throbbing pain start up behind his eyes.

“Kynan, darling,” he is careful to keep his own voice low as well. Vox Machina had mentioned in the past how easily he could be found, deep voice booming across a festival or tavern, but thought them exaggerating. Now, with senses heightened, he was inclined not to test it.. “Would you be a dear and draw the curtains, please?”

“Oh, I see what’s happened.” Gilmore winces, as Jarrett doesn’t bother to soften his tone. In fact, Shaun might even say his friend is getting louder as the room fades into a gentle darkness.

“Jarrett, Gilmore is obviously ill, we should take care to-”

“Oh he’s certainly ill alright. Because he drank himself sick last night. This is just one mother of hangover, isn’t it.” Jarrett is frowning at him with a pitying look, and Gilmore finds that it is in fact possible to hate seeing a face. He knows pity, or he thought he did. He has felt pity from others before. It’s a melancholy sensation, full of greys and softly sad tones and fuzzy inklings of auras reaching out for just a moment before pulling away. It could never be called a pleasant feeling, but it was never as bad as this… this _look_ on his friends face. It was like looking at Shaun was _physically paining_ him, and Gilmore feels laid bare, raw and ashamed, beneath the sad, disappointed gaze. It’s like Jarrett is looking straight through him, carefully picking through his thoughts and his feelings and his choices, and finding him deserving of only a frown and a furrowed brow. Shaun thinks of the muted sensations of pity he’s felt throughout his life, the half-feelings and brief discomfort he’d brushed of as fleeting, kind-hearted concern. He realizes that until this moment he never understood just how poorly people must have been been thinking of him on those occasions, and his stomach twists again. They must all have looked at him with those same fucking eyes. He had no idea faces could hold such weapons within them.

“Oh, Shaun.” Gods, and that voice was even worse. He hears the shift in Jarret’s tone, exasperation deepening into a passive resignation, as though Gilmore had run him ragged and exhausted, and now Jarrett was just giving up on him.  Like a tired, desperate father crooning to a tantrum throwing babe, Jarrett chides him. “I know you were scared for him last night, we all were. I know we were lucky, that he made it back to us, but even if…” his friend looks away from him, and hangs his head. Shaun honestly can’t decide if that makes it better or not.

“You know that’s not the way to deal with these things. You should have come to us  - taken comfort in the rest of Vox Machina, or with me. Hell, you should’ve come helped with the ritual, instead of slinking off by yourself to the drink all your fears away, in the Raven Queen’s temple no less... _his_ temple, for fuck’s sake. Maybe feeling like you were doing something, anything, that might save him would have helped you too!”

Gilmore stares at him, jaw slack. He knows it was suspicious, not being there at the ritual, not giving any reason for his sudden absence, but Jarrett can’t honestly believe-

“You really think I wouldn’t do _absolutely everything_ in my power to save him?” He chokes out, hands twisting painfully and white-knuckling into the sheets still twisted at his hip. “You think I wouldn’t jump at any and every opportunity to bring him back-”

“I believe you would, once you started thinking,” Jarrett sighs, reaching out and covering one of Gilmore’s hands with his own. “But I also believe you are still caught up and drowning in your love for this boy that you know you can’t have-” Pike’s shoulders stiffen, and she tenses up from where she kneels by the bedside. “- from whom you’ve been selfishly and self-destructively stealing every moment you can have regardless of how you always feel after, when you come to me with a tea set or finger sandwiches shaking in your hands because you can never bear being alone after he’s left you again, and suddenly even those precious few chances were ripped away from you and you didn’t know how to handle it. So you drank. You drank until didn’t feel it anymore, and Shaun-” Jarrett’s harsh tone finally grows soft. “Shaun Gilmore, as your friend, I can’t let that happen again. That’s a slippery slope. So let this morning be a lesson to you, not to keep trading the temporary pain of a moment for a lingering pain in the future, hmn?”

Shaun just continues to stare at him, words failing. If he were honest with himself, something that had been becoming much more difficult in recent weeks, most of what Jarrett said rang uncomfortably true. He is still drowning, he is still being as selfish as he will allow himself, and he didn’t know how to handle even the idea that the final line had been crossed and even the small bit of Vax he was allowed to have might be well and truly gone from him.

Except instead of panicking and losing himself in drink, he panicked and went and lost _himself_ \- truly, everything that made Shaun Gilmore _Gilmore_ \- in exchange. And if this is how his dear friend looks at him when he thinks Shaun was just drinking himself into oblivion over Vax, who already so ungratefully owns his heart and mind… how on earth could he bear the way Jarrett will look at him when he discovers Gilmore has even given up his very magic for the boy?

“I… you’re right, Jarrett,” he looks down to where Jarrett’s hand is silently asking for his own, and slowly releases his grip on the blanket to let their fingers curl loosely around each other. “I should have… I should have come to you, my friend. This is certainly not a scenario I should like to repeat.”

“Thank you, Shaun. It means a lot that you would hear me out.”

“Um, so…” Pike fidgets uncomfortably before them. “If you’re sure everything is alright, I uh… I should probably check on Vax, so-”

“Of course-” It’s an odd sensation for Gilmore, being able to feel his own face heat up with color.

“Do you need me to, um...” she nods towards the bucket, and the small bit of mess on the blanket that missed it. “Or do you want to just, prestidigitate it or something.”

“Ah, no, please don’t trouble yourself with that. I… I’ll handle it in a moment. Probably best to not try to use...” he has to swallow back another heavy lump in his throat. “I shouldn’t use much magic until I’m sure all this-” he gestures vaguely towards his stomach and head “-is settled.”

“Oh, I can help with the hang-”

“No, no. I think… I think I would rather just be alone for a bit, rest it out the old fashioned way if the two of you don’t mind.” Pike nods at him, and gets up to leave. Kynan appears to already be gone, and Shaun doesn’t know whether he’s just unused to his new senses or if Kynan was just that quiet. It reminds him of Vax. Jarrett sits by him for a moment more, gently cleaning and tucking Shaun’s last few errant curls of hair behind his ear, then he pulls the larger man in close. Gilmore is struck with the sensation of his friend’s warmth and presence, for the first time unhindered. The senses that made it through his magic were always clear and distinct, and Shaun could usually pinpoint every small piece and sensation in his understanding of his companion. Jarrett had always been

_coffee and saffron spice and desert wind on sanded skin and oiled leather and bowstring grease_

Now, all of those impressions and sensations were blending, mixing, overwhelming each other, and creating one big wave of

_Jarrett Jarrett Jarrett_

Gilmore lets the wave carry him away for a moment.

“Take care, Shaun. I can always be here if you need me to be.”

“I know. Thank you,” he murmurs.

Then he is alone, sitting in a bed that is supposed to be a familiar comfort, his safe haven, and all of the furs and pillows feel wrong.

  



	5. Taking Stock

Vax’ildan finds the effect of the Impedimentum Arcana lingering far past what he had hoped. It had been pleasant enough when he woke yesterday morning, with the room bathed in a unique golden haze, feelings of warm sunlight and crisp autumn leaves resonating from the soft woman beside him in spite of Whitestone’s usual sharp and frosty morning air. He'd spent the day almost entirely in bed, and most of that time asleep. While awake, he basked in an exhaustion-drunk haze next to Keyleth until he passed out agian, his body finally having a moment of rest to recover from the past... well, year, really. Today though, getting through the bustling castle to meet with the rest of Vox Machina in the courtyard was not so relaxing. Everyone was in such a hurry, and the echoes of their haste and frenzy nearly overwhelmed him a few times. Though Keyleth remained a strong focal point at his side, it was difficult to keep the hustle of the castle at bay. Now as they slowly make their way out of the building, and the tense energy of all the servants and nobles slip away, Vax is presented with a new challenge - convincing his family that he’s good to go to Vasselheim with them.

“Brother, darling, I love you, but that has got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever suggested.” Vex - a sharpness to her edges protecting a warm core, bowstring pulled tight and ready to protect a soft heart surrounded by cold hard coin and warm fur and damp earth and the twinge of recently fired blackpowder - sits on top of the courtyard wall, arms crossed.

“C’mon Stubby, it’ll be fine. We’re just burying a box, yeah? What’s the worst that could hap-”

“Oh no, do not even think about saying that.” Glinting metal, red hot against the fire, the hiss of steam and the feeling of grease left along his brow where he wipes away the sweat. Percy hands the small, ornate lockbox to Pike. “You don’t ever say that. That’s exactly when bad things start to happen.”

“I agree with Percy,” Pike frowns at the box in her hands. Soft blue turns to stormy grey, the energy around her wrapping curiously around the wood. As he watches, Vax finds the inklings of sensation far easier to understand. He can tell which sensations are more like memories - echoes of his friends’ feelings and hearts - rather than the impressions reflecting their current thoughts and emotions. As he watches Pike turn the box of ashes over and over in her hands, his feels a tugging in his gut that he doesn't belong to him and somewhere an easy breeze turns into a whipping wind and he understands how worried Pike really is about this box. He’s not sure if this new understanding is a good or bad sign.

“I mean... it’s just a box, innit? S’just his old lady what died, ‘n he wants her taken care of, yeah?” Grog is simple, sweat and ale and bloodied knuckles, all tucked around a fierce heart of gold. It’s refreshing, such a clear and simple understanding when all the rest seem to be just layers upon layers upon layers.

“That Cinokier guy did seem a little iffy,” Scanlan, on the other hand... there’s playfulness and bitterness and apathy and sorrow and golds and greens and oranges and blues, wrapped in a tight purple barrier holding, pushing, pressing everything against Scanlan’s chest. Every so often and inkling of a feeling might try to escape, but Vax can only catch a glimpse before that sharp purple energy pulls it back in. “But I think that’s just cuz he’s weird guy. A sad, lonely, weird little guy.” Vax is struck by an idea.

“Can I see the box?” Pike hesitantly hands it over to him. He holds in his hands, running his thumbs over the smooth surface, and closes his eyes as he focuses on the ashes inside.

_Blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, laughing with abandon as she spins and spins and spins and falls down amongst the wildflowers. Cinokier looks at her, a strange curiosity and lightness in his eyes. She knows he understands things in an odd way, doesn’t quite feel things the same way she does, but she never doubts he loves her. She reaches out, a delicate pale hand tracing his cheek, and he wraps his fingers gently around her wrist._

_He wraps his fingers gently around her wrist. His hand is shaking. She lies in bed, frail and old. They always knew he would live so much longer than her. He doesn’t cry. He isn’t the sort to. It doesn’t mean that the sorrow he feels isn’t deep and cutting - she can see it in the trembling of his shoulders._

_“Take me to the Birth Heart?” She whispers, and it’s hard to get the words out. “One more time, darling, let me lay among the flowers?”_

_“Of course... my... love.”_

Vax snaps back into his own body with a gasp, hands clenched around the small box. The rest of Vox Machina are worried, a grey crackling energy surrounding the whole group.

“It’s alright,” he waves off Keyleth at his elbow, panting with heavy breaths. ‘It’s okay, it’s... it’s just her ashes guys. It’s just... it’s just the ashes of a woman who wants to be buried in the Birth Heart. That’s all.” His friends share worried glances as he steadies himself, having listed off a bit to his left while he was so far away.

“Vax, I’m not sure if-”

“I saw it!” He doesn’t mean to snap, truly, but he’s still tired from yesterday and the tension of the group is beginning to wear off on him as well. “This... this damn magic left over from the ritual has me seeing and knowing shit, okay? So can you guys just trust me and lets go bury this damn box?” Keyleth shrinks back from him with a hurt look, and Vax sighs.

“Shit, I... I’m sorry, Kiki. I didn’t mean... it’s just been a weird couple of days and I would just like for things to feel normal again as soon as possible. And normal for us is being out there, _doing_ things. Helping people. I can’t stay cooped up in Whitestone.”

“Okay,” her voice is soft as she reaches out to him, and Vax can feel her natural aura creeping towards him as well, tentative sparks of orange energy dancing just out of his reach. Curiously, he pushes out with his new senses as he takes her hand, stretching out towards her with his own aura. He sees it for a moment, a deep blue haze of magic, before he loses focus and it snaps back into him. Keyleth doesn’t seem to notice, but he feels a sudden spike of sharp yellow concern coming from Scanlan. “Okay, let’s... let’s go bury the box.”

“If we’re all going to Vasselheim today,” Vex huffs, jumping down from the courtyard wall. “I need to grab a few things from the town. I don’t want to have to ask that asshole merchant for anything.” Vax laughs, a vivid image coming to mind of the merchant in question being chased around in his small-clothes by an armored bear. He doesn’t care who’s idea it was, his or his sisters. It’s still hilarious.

As they make their way into Whitestone proper, Scanlan grabs hold of Vax’s armor and pulls him back to lag behind the rest of the group.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” he hisses, low and careful not to draw the rest of their party’s attention.

“Do what?”

“Any of that. Looking into the memories within that box, being able to control your own aura... Vax, lingering magic should not let you do that. That is advanced arcane technique, it takes a lot of fucking power to manipulate your own energy like that.”

“What are you saying,” Vax’s voice takes on a hint of desperation, though he’s careful to keep the volume down. “That the ritual left a bigger mark than we thought?”

“I don’t know,” Scanlan runs a hand through his hair nervously. “This is all new territory here, Vax. The only thing that’s certain is what you just did? That kind of shit isn’t ‘residual.’”

“I-”

"Hey brother,” Vex cuts him off, calling out from the front of the group. “If you’re done playing ‘secrets’ with Scanlan, perhaps you’d like to come be polite and say hello to Gilmore? After he was soooo worried about you and all...”

“Oh Vex’ahlia darling that’s quite alright, I’m hardly in a rush-” Vax looks up at the deep voice, and there’s no other word he could use to describe the figure he sees other than Glorious. It’s as if the desert sun itself shines from beneath the man’s skin, a dark golden glow waving and wrapping around him like silk curtains, hiding sweet incense and expensive oils and honeyed lips-

“That’s not right either,” Scanlan murmurs beside him, tightening his grip on the Deathwalker’s Ward.

“I... huh?” Vax shakes himself out of his awe, looking back at Scanlan. The energy held tightly against the gnome’s chest is fidgeting, antsy... something is very wrong. “What do you mean, is he okay?”

“No... no I don’t think so. Gilmore is usually just... so much... well, more.”

“More? He’s... are you telling me he’s typically even brighter than that?” Scanlan cocks a crooked grin up at Vax.

“What can I say, the man’s always been impressive.” Vax focuses on Gilmore as he and Vex talk for a bit, and Scanlan’s words begin to ring true - though Vax doesn’t know what the sorcerer’s energy may have looked like before, there is an unusual tightness to his eyes, a tense set to his shoulders. He’s even using his shopkeeper smile on Vex. Gilmore hasn’t used his shopkeeper smile on Vox Machina in years.

“Fuck, you’re right.” Vex finishes ranting about something, and Gilmore laughs, then they turn and Vax finally catches his eye. A sudden wave of bittersweet longing crashes over him, reaching for him and crying out to him and tugging desperately at his own aura before being yanked back and shoved behind that golden curtain again. Vax stumbles beneath the force of it, and Scanlan steadies him with pitying eyes.

“Careful... he may be a bit subdued today, but Gilmore has a tendency to have rather strong feelings.”

“Yeah, I... I noticed. Was that-,” he cuts off his words quickly Gilmore approaches, and now that Vax is paying attention he can see that the man's usual jaunty gait is slower, that his hands tremble a bit at his sides.

“Vax’ildan!” He imagines Gilmore’s voice could be so easy to get lost in - rich tones of deep velvet with gold flecks of jasmine, the taste of sweet wine lingering in the air as he speaks. It’s only Vax’s worry for his dear friend that has him recognizing the strain behind the melody, the aftertaste of copper. Gilmore reaches out as if to clasp his shoulder, but he hesitates and drops his hand. “It’s so good to see you up and about. Vex tells me things got a little bit... curious?”

“Uh, yeah...” Vax studies the other man’s face, finding tight lines and an unsettling paleness to his usually ruddy cheeks. This close, it almost looks as if Gilmore is about to break into cold sweats. Vax reaches up to brush the back of his hand along Gilmore’s brow. “Yeah, I’m... I’m doing alright. You don’t look too good yourself though, are you-” Gilmore jolts back a step before Vax can touch him, a pained smile on his face.

“Don’t mind me, just some uh... after-effects it seems, from our first tangle with Raishan. You caught me on my way to see Allura about it, in fact.”

“Oh, well... if you’re sure...” Vax reaches for him again, this time to put a hand on his shoulder, but Gilmore shrugs away from him. His golden glow lingers, however, wrapping itself around Vax’s fingers and seeming reluctant to follow it’s owner as Gilmore turns away.

“No worries, my friends,” he calls to the group, with a final wave. “I do believe we have seen the worst of it. Best not to rush ahead of ourselves into worrying over things we needn’t. Take some time to enjoy the peace for a while!” The others call out to him as he leaves, a chorus of good-bye’s and see you when we get back’s, but Vax just watches, stunned, as Gilmore moves uncharacteristically slowly up the path.

“He... he’s lying to me. He never lies to me.”

 

* * *

 

“-so theoretically, should the reverse occur, then with the loss of the arcane barrier the caster would be experience physical sensation at seemingly three or five times what they would consider normal. There is also the possibility of muscle fatigue, as they would no longer have the assistance of the magic normally housed within their bodies. Where in Vax’s case he may find additional strength and agility, the opposite effect would be an increased strain on the physical ability of the body, as the magic housed within the caster would’ve been sharing the workload with the musculature. If I may ask, Shaun,” Allura closes the tome in front of her, folding her glasses neatly and setting them aside. “Why the sudden interest in the Impedimentum?”

“Oh, I ran into Vax’ildan this morning. He asked for some more help looking into it.”

"More eyes definitely couldn’t hurt...” Allura rests her elbows on her desk, rubbing her eyes before looking over at Gilmore. He leans against the far wall, eyes unfocused as he runs his fingers over all the book spines jutting out from her shelves. He follows the braided text through to the end before he moves to the next book, so on and so forth down the shelve, the thick embroidery a curious sensation against the sensitive pads of his fingertips - each gathering of threads a smooth river until it's cut off by another. “Are you sure that’s all you’ve come by for, Gilmore?”

“Hmn?” he looks up, eyes darting around a moment before finding hers. “What do you mean?”

“You seem a bit off, dear.” She stands, pushing her chair back from the desk. The wood scrapes against the floor, and Gilmore winces against the noise. He turns back to the books. It had been too much to hope for that Allura wouldn’t notice. He ignores the click-click of her heels getting closer. Her hand is cold when she rests it against the back of his neck.

“You’re dimmer today, Shaun.”

“I’m still a bit worn out, that’s all. I haven’t used that much magic in quite some time, and after holding up the barrier for so long...” Shaun turns and gives Allura a sheepish grin. “I may have spread myself a bit thin, is all.” He holds still beneath her gaze, careful not to fidget.

“You should be resting, then,” she sighs and turns away. Gilmore relaxes, his bluff still uncalled.

"I 'rested' for nearly the entirety of yesterday, Allura. A man such as myself can only take so much slothing about." This, at least, is only partly untrue. Though he would typically milk any well-earned rest for as much as it was worth, yesterday's hours spent fading in and out of consciousness amongst bedsheets that felt all wrong was nearly maddening.

"Still," the arcanist's brows furrow a bit, and Shaun marvels at all the tiny changes it makes to her overall countenance. He logs it carefully away in his minds eye, now startlingly aware that it's going to be important for him to learn to read such discreet changes in expression rather than relying on his magic's impressions of people's mood. “It won’t do for you to continue running yourself ragged for him.”

“I’m... sorry? Who do you mean.”

“Vax’ildan.” Gilmore feels his blood run cold as Allura returns to her desk, standing by it and flipping through a few papers. “You’re doing this for him, right? Dragging yourself up to the castle to see me, searching my library for books to undoubtedly spend hours pouring over, all the while knowing the strain it’s putting on your body.”

“He is a dear friend, Allura. I would hope that any of Vox Machina would do the same for me were I in such a situation-”

“You are not a subtle man, Shaun Gilmore.” She peers over the parchment at him, face impassive. “You may be able to fool most of Vox Machina, but every arcane caster in Tal’dorei can feel the way your aura reaches out for that boy. You never did quite learn to keep your emotions tucked within it. Not completely.”

A heavy lump settles in Shaun’s throat, and he can feel that already too familiar nausea threatening to creep back up from his stomach.

“Is that so? It might have been helpful to have that mentioned earlier.”

“I didn’t think you would want me getting involved in your business-”

“But of course I would rather have all of my contemporaries entertaining themselves as they watch me pine over a man I can’t have? Is that it?"

“You know that’s not what I meant-”

“Do you all sit down for tea and laugh about the poor fool that can master the arcane arts and read the Weave around him like the back of his hand but is so pathetically in love with someone who will never feel the same that he can’t keep his feelings from pouring out of him like a goddamned child-”

“Shaun, please!” Allura wraps her hands around his, gently uncurling his fingers from where they’re white-knuckling around the book, taking the tome from him and setting it down on the side table. Gilmore doesn’t remember taking it from the shelf. She guides him to the armchair in the corner and he sits, shaking.

“I’m sorry, I... I thought you knew, about the spill over. I thought you would rather no one mention it.” He drops his head to his hands, and Allura runs her fingers though his hair. She much more cautious than Pike, tentative and hesitant with him, and it doesn’t pull quite so much. “For what it’s worth, what I feel from you when you think of him... I can guarantee you no one is laughing at you. Not when we can feel just how-”

“Please, Allura.” Gilmore gently pushes her hand away. “I think... I think I would actually prefer it if we could just... not speak of this anymore.”

“Of course, Shaun. If that’s what you want.” She sits with him a few moments more, silently. It isn’t comfortable, but it’s not quite uncomfortable either.

“Jarrett knows, too,” Gilmore breaks the silence. “That I still love him. He pities me for it.”

“I won’t offer you any pity, my friend, but I will offer you some tea.”

“Tea would be lovely.”

 

* * *

 

The tea is not lovely. It’s sharp and flowery and Gilmore knows the tea Allura serves used to be one of his favorites, but it just tastes like leaves and grass, a filmy coating lingering on his tongue and his teeth. He finishes it of course, while they chat about less uncomfortable things. It‘s only polite, after his outburst. Silently, he makes another note in his running tally of things that are no longer the same, that will never be the same. It’s growing into a frighteningly long list.

Their visit comes to a close, and Shaun find himself back in the halls of the castle during the midday bustle. He intends to work his way down to the training grounds, Jarrett having properly set up a training area in what used to be an interior garden so they would no longer have to use the main courtyard. However, the castle is far louder than it used to be, rumors of celebration preparations and visiting dignitaries pushing the whole staff into a frenzy, wheeling in and out of rooms with arms full of fabrics and food and it gets to the point where all Gilmore sees are bright colors flying around him and all he hears is the loud babble of voices and voices and so many fucking voices.

He finds himself catching his breath on one of the open ramparts, near the top of the castle. He breathes the afternoon air in, drawing it deep into his lungs before releasing it in a heavy sigh. That is one new sensation he enjoys, the feeling of the crisp air filling up his chest. He releases his grip on the banister, turning his back to the city and sinking down until it rests against the half-wall. He sits there for a bit, the noise of the city and the castle muffled as the wind plays with his hair and robes. The linen scratches almost painfully against his chest and legs where it billows, and Gilmore regrets not wearing the silk today. Perhaps it would have lain smoother against his oversensitive skin. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the cool stone.

He must drift off for a bit, because he feels the vague sensation of a cold body sitting beside him, frigid fingers wrapping around his own, and long hair brushing against his cheek where a heavy head rests against his shoulder. When he opens his eyes again, the sky is tinted a colorful array of orange and pink, more vibrant and glorious than any dusk sky Gilmore had seen before. He had always felt the lazy, golden energy that seemed to drift over the world come sunset, but to look up and be able to see it, the streaks of red and orange and pink leaving purple auras around the clouds-

It aches, somewhere deep in Shaun’s chest. It’s beautiful, truly beautiful, but it’s also the closest thing to his arcane perception that he’s seen since losing his magic. He feels that tickling pain in the corner of his eye, his only warning, before his chest is hitching and his shoulders are shaking and he’s leaning forward and pressing his palms tightly against his face, trying to will the tears to stop. After a few minutes, something heavy falls around his shoulders and he jerks up, banging his head on the stone behind him. For the second time that day, Gilmore has to wait for the white spots in front of his eyes to fade away before he can fix his gaze on the person in front him.

Kynan is kneeling before him nervously, one hand still clutching the edge of the grey fur now draped across Shaun’s shoulders and back, and the other hovering anxiously behind his aching skull.

“I... I didn’t mean to startle you, I”m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m f-fine,” Gilmore grits out through clenched teeth, head still throbbing. Kynan sits back on his heels and Shaun instinctually pulls the fur tighter around him, only realizing how sharply the wind was cutting through his robes now that it was blocked.

“It was getting cold out,” the young man offers, looking down at his hands. “You needed a cloak.”

“Th-thank you,” and Kynan is right - it’s difficult to get his lips to form the tight vowels, hard to make his tongue cooperate on the soft consonants. Gilmore can barely feel his fingers. He hadn’t paid much mind, earlier, but it’s no longer normal not to feel things even if he isn’t focusing on them. He will have to pay far closer attention to that in the future. He draws his knees in closer to his chest, and wraps the fur around them as well. Kynan still doesn’t look at him. Gilmore clears his throat, wiping what he hopes is the last trace of tears from his face.

“Well, it is getting late. We should probably both head back inside-”

“I know what you did.”

Gilmore tenses, shoulders taut and back suddenly ramrod straight. Guilty eyes look up at him from beneath blonde fringe.

“I don’t mean to spy. Really, I don’t. I just... I see things, and people don’t notice me. That’s all, really!”

“What do you mean-” Shaun starts slowly, pulling the thick cloak tighter around him. “-when you say you know what I did.”

“For Vax.” Kynan bites his lip, fiddling with buckles on his own cloak, the new Whitestone Guard standard. “I saw what happened, at the ritual. Everyone thought it was the Raven Queen, stepping in to save her champion or whatever, but... the Raven Queen’s magic isn’t gold, is it? And... and that was a lot of magic.” Gilmore feels the blood drain from his face as Kynan continues.

“And then... I found you, you know? I was confused, because I thought it couldn’t be her, but it couldn't have been anyone else there. So I went to the tomb, the temple he had set up, and there you were. And you... you weren’t okay. It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one that saved him. And you used all of your magic to to do it.”

“How do you figure,” Gilmore’s voice shakes. “How do you figure I used all of it?”

“I heard what you were asking Miss Allura,” and now Kynan has the grace to look ashamed. “I heard from the doorway, you asked her what it was like for Vax to have that... that weird barrier thing now, and then you asked... what it might be like for someone who already had it to lose it. I... I guessed. I’m sorry.” Gilmore doesn’t know what to say. He had expected, if anyone, Allura or Jarrett - or even Scanlan - to be the one who found him out. Instead, it was this scrawny kid Vax had picked up off the street who was far too much like him for his own good.

“That’s why you were hurting so much this morning, wasn’t it? You weren’t hungover, you were just... suddenly feeling everything.”

“If... if that was the case, what would you do?”

“I... I would say I’m sorry. And then I would say thank you,” Kynan looks up at him again, finally. Gilmore finds no pity in in the boy’s eyes, only watery gratitude. It looks like the boy may begin crying himself, any minute now. “Because Vax is alive, and that’s only because you gave up everything to save him. And... and then I guess, I would want to ask you if you were okay, but that kinda seems like a stupid question now, and I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it. So instead I guess... I would ask what it’s like? That’s... if you’re comfortable telling me.”

And the gods help him, but something about the boy’s earnest eyes and nervous hands has Gilmore reaching out and pulling Kynan tightly to his chest and wrapping the fur around them both as he talks and talks and talks about how frightening it is, how overwhelming the brightness and the colors and the sounds are. It feels good, to finally tell someone, to get all of the fear and uncertainty the sharp, painful loss off of his chest and once he starts talking Shaun finds he can’t stop. He talks about how lost he feels without the auras of others to guide him, about the missing chunk of feelings and memories and emotions when he looks at Vex and can’t hear Trinket’s snuffling breaths, and how uncomfortable it is to be grinned at by Grog when he can’t sense the underlying gentleness in the goliath’s soul. He talks about Vax, and the sudden gaping hole where Shaun could no longer feel the vibrancy of the half-elf’s energy, no deep blue haze _reaching reaching reaching out_ and around everyone important to him, endearingly nervous and clingy where it would mingle with Shaun’s own, filled with echoes of vanilla and leather and a sense of protection. He talks about avoiding Vax’s touch, how afraid he was that if he should feel it now, without his magic to temper the sensation, it wouldn’t be half as wonderful as Shaun remembered. Or worse, that it might be even better.

Through it all, Kynan is a warm, steadying presence against him, letting the tide of words flow over him until the floodgates finally run dry. Gilmore falls silent, after what feels like ages, and Kynan is offering him a thin lavender cloth.

“It’s very soft,” he murmurs, as he presses it against Gilmore’s cheeks. They’re wet again. He hadn’t noticed. The cloth is indeed very soft. “There’s a stairwell, in the east wing of the castle between the baths and the lower kitchen,” Kynan continues, tucking the kerchief away without another care or mention as if wiping another man’s tears away was a typical occurrence for him. Shaun is grateful for it. “It’s a tight spiral, so it’s easier for the staff to take the main staircase up, and no one really uses it. It’s warm, and it’s quiet, but not like... too quiet? It... you can hear the rest of castle, but it’s muffled. Like it’s far away.” He moves out from Gilmore’s arms and stands, holding out a hand to help him up. Gilmore’s joints are stiff and his muscles ache from the cold and their lack of full use, but Kynan is patient with him as he helps Shaun back down through the castle.

“I like to sit there sometimes, when things get a bit... much. I wouldn't mind sharing, if you need it.” Gilmore moves to hand back the fur cloak as they reach the door, but Kynan steps back quickly out of his reach. “You... you’ve still got a ways to walk.”

“Thank you, Kynan,” his voice is rough, after so much talking in the chilly dusk air, but Shaun feels it important to say. “For everything.”

“I should be the one saying that,” Kynan shifts his weight from foot to foot, suddenly the same nervous, hesitant creature Gilmore had woken up to. “So if... so if you ever need anything else that I can help with...”

“Of course. Goodnight, Kynan.”

“Goodnight... Shaun.”


	6. Moving Forward

The next morning starts right off on the wrong foot, with another jumble of blindingly vibrant, nearly indistinguishable dreams leaving Vax gasping quietly as he wakes, blinking into the early Vasselheim morning. Their strange, swirling, dynamic nature has him a touch nauseous as he slips silently from Keyleth’s side.

Of course, it  _ may _ have been the dreams. It also may have been the copious amounts of liquor he drank the night before. Apparently, although the Impedimentum Arcana dulls most outside sensations, drunkenness becomes a heightened kaleidoscope of feeling. One he may have over-indulged in. As he dresses and heads from their room back into the tavern proper, he starts piecing together the night before. To be frank, he doesn’t remember most of it. He does recall the group entering the town on their way to bury The Box, only to find Kashaw and Zahra on their way out, already on another job for the Slayer’s Take. 

“Gold waits for no dragon,” Kashaw had said. Vex had agreed, though Keyleth didn’t quite get it, and Vax was nearly more amused by Kashaw’s fumbling attempts to explain the phrase than by his powerhouse of a girlfriend’s adorable “tilted antlers of confusion.” He had rather missed the dynamic the surly cleric brought to their group. Soon, one thing led to another, and both groups ended up putting aside their original plans for the day in exchange for an afternoon of carousing and celebration - one that had been lost to them amongst the unfinished business after Thordak’s death. Afternoon quickly turned into evening, and after that…

Vax remembers his eyes full of only vague colors and shapes, his numb fingers wrapped around a flagon he couldn’t feel, yet his skin hummed with the vibrancy and distinction of every person in the room. He remembers knowing which pulse of mirth was Pike, which gentle touch of amusement was Keyleth, which rush of eagerness was Grog. Then he remembers not being able to tell the difference anymore, not knowing what were his own feelings or what were others’, just feeling  _ everything _ all at once and basking in the sensation. Foggier still, he remembers fading perception as the room quieted. Or perhaps, a different room. Hands on his face he had to struggle to feel. A soft love pouring out that he didn't. Sun-warmed earth laying herself out above him and her cool crisp grass brushing his chest and hips and...

He remembers the orgasm was  _ wonderful.  _ He can’t remember how, the specific sensations lost to the fog of drink, but knows that it was. Knows it left him trembling, left him gasping for air he couldn’t get enough of. Left him so full of feelings they couldn't have all been his. Left him astounded by its magnitude. 

Left him frightened of its desperation.

“Ah, some hair of the dog, please,” Vax rasps as he reaches the bar, his body still taking it’s sweet time to properly wake even as he pulls out stool and takes a seat.

“Already on it, darlin’. You lot had a fun night, I figured you might be needin’ something along the lines.” A glass of dark red is set before him, and as he wraps his fingers around it Vax finds himself smelling tomato and peppers. He looks up at the bartender and focuses in on her face. The older woman smiles kindly back at him, looking a little frazzled around the edges in spite of her soft smile. She feels like the woman from the night before, generosity and charity wrapped around a lonely core, but without remembering things clearly Vax can’t be sure.

“Thank you,” he smiles back, placing a couple gold on the counter in case of any trouble they might have caused her last night, if she had in fact been the one tending to them so attentively.

“Not at all, sweetheart,” she shakes her head even as she pockets the gold. “It was a delight, havin' you folks in last night.” 

“I’m sure it was,” he smiles at her again, and nods politely. She’s certainly skilled at her craft, Vax decides, as she catches his small cue and returns to puttering about her own work, leaving him to nurse his cure in silence. He plans to slip a few more coins her way for it before the morning’s done. For now, he’ll take the time to parse together what he can of the blur of last night before the rest of his family comes down. Vax rubs at his temples, pressing in hard just to feel his fingers digging in to his tense muscles. He’s looking forward to their trip to the Birth-heart far more now, that’s for certain.

A relaxing stroll through a lovely park on a sunny day with his stunning girlfriend sounds like a very good idea.

* * *

A teleportation circle is far more disorienting without his magic reaching into the folds of the rune for him, an arcane compass guiding him along the path as he moves through the Weave. Instead, Shaun simply has to trust blindly in the circle, activating the magic within and leaping into the darkness, praying it is in fact taking him where he needs. He is inordinately grateful when he does indeed arrive in what used to be the Lyceum, it’s teleportation circles mostly restored in anticipation of the rebuilding of Emon. It must show on his face, given Sherri’s concerned look as she greets him.

“Rough trip?” she quips sardonically at his immense sigh of relief upon stepping out of the proper circle.

“Rough year,” Shaun groans in response, taking the lead and striding out of the chamber, certain Sherri would follow. Just because he now walks through this world completely disoriented doesn’t mean anyone else should have to know. His talk with Allura yesterday, and then later Kynan, had been enlightening. He hadn’t realized he’d been so obviously out of sorts. It wouldn’t do to have too many people questioning him. So, Gilmore makes more of a point to swagger ahead confidently, almost arrogantly, like he’s always done. He ignores the nausea that comes with the harsher feeling of his body swaying, his weight shifting. He pretends to lock his sight on his goal and move in the path he remembers, even though the world around him is a dizzying blur of color, swimming in front of his eyes in the bright morning sun. Soon, he stands before the rubble of his old shop, and Emon is none the wiser to their Glorious Gilmore’s plight.

“A right mess this is,” Sherri mumbles, wading through the few paths she and a few others had sifted through yesterday. “Damned thieves guild had their run of it after the main strike. Tossed the place about even more, took anything of obvious worth. But it’s nothing a bit of hard work and magic won’t set right.” Shaun hears her, but barely responds as he stares at the sight before him. Though his ringing ears still catch each footstep and clatter from the few people around, other folk starting to clear away the wreckage of their own homes and livelihoods, all the noise mingles in the air around him. Like a tapestry too large to see all at once, where each color is so sharp and jarring and bright against the others that he can't focus on the picture within it, the scene just doesn't register.

He’s too busy staring at the rocks.

There’s so many. Previously, the rubble of his life's work - a vague blip of a memory from one desperate, self-pitying scrying session shortly after the original siege of Emon - had been nothing more than a forlorn mass of bumpy grey. It was the far away feeling of an empty home long drifted off on the tides of a storm, a few purple and gold sheets of tattered silk and ragged curtain standing out sharply in his arcane focus. 

Sticking out from where they were caught between the bricks and boulders and stone, the cloth is still just as striking. A little more frayed, much more filthy, but still bright against the gray and dusty brown. However, it pales in comparison to seeing every individual block, every jagged edge, every tangible piece of the ruins of his shop laid bare and apparent - a complete and undeniable shattering of what he’d worked so hard for.

Shaun takes a shuddering breath, too sharp and too harsh in his lungs, and finds himself flailing for purchase. Sherri, bless her, is at his side in a heartbeat, taking his arm and easing him down to sit on the low ridge that once was the front wall. It’s cold and uneven beneath him, and he finds himself repeatedly running his thumb over the rough edges of the broken mortar just to ground himself in reality.

“Sorry love,” Sherri’s tone is gentle, a rare occurrence that few ever had the privilege to hear, and he lets the reassuring voice fill his ears and his mind and chase away the burning of tears in his eyes and the whispers of  _ I’m ruined I’m ruined I’m _ -

It’s the first time Shaun has been thankful for just how  _ loud _ everything is now.

“It looks bad, I know. But everything that's been built and broken can be built again. And we’re going to fix it. So chin up, now.” She brushes back a bit of the hair from his face. The wake of her touch lingers, dragging along behind her fingers where she trails them. It still feels a bit rough, in the same sharp focus as Pike's palms against his face and Kynan's weight against his side, but it's a blessing all the same. Like a shock of cool water splashed across a feverish temple. It’s the last anchor Gilmore needs to snap back into himself.

“Of course,” he clears his throat as he stands, immediately regretting it as the harsh vibrations scream up his throat. He barely manages to avoid a coughing fit. “Lots to be done. Hope you’re ready to work for your keep, Sherri darling.” He brushes his hands together, grimacing at the grating of the flecks of mortar and old paint rubbing between them as he dusts them off.

“I hope you’re ready to pay me for it, Gilmore,” the half-elf’s dry tone is back, and things feel just a bit more promising in the world. Shaun moves to cast a quick prestidigitation to handle his unsightly countenance, tears never quite doing him justice. Should anyone ask, he would tell them he’s a naturally gorgeous crier, the perfect combination of melancholy sorrow and ethereal grace. The truth, however, is that he inherited his mother’s unfortunate tendencies towards puffy eyes and messy blotches, marked tracks of tearstains visible to anyone with half a mind to look.

When the familiar rush of warm energy doesn’t come, Shaun mentally kicks himself and is left to surreptitiously slide a sleeve across his face as he turns from Sherri and starts picking his way through the mess of the shop. There is one thing he learned yesterday, at least, to help manage this whole thing - fabric choice matters. The silks he chose today are a far cry from yesterday’s scratchy linens. He’d always lauded the material for the reams of remarkably bright colors he could find it in - notable even through the Impedimentum Arcana - and the symbol of status it afforded him. Now though, he understands the appeal of it's exquisite touch. The delicacy of the spun silk slides gently against his raw and reddened cheeks. It’s just a brief moment, a brush that once would have been just a faint whisper of fabric, but it’s softness is as crisp and clear and refreshing as that first sip of water he’d tasted two days ago.

Gilmore wanders his way into the center of the rubble, a touch unsteady on the uneven jumble of rock and brick. Allura's theorizing on his magic - well, on arcane magic in general, that is - being instrumental in the balance and strength of his physical body seems more and more well founded with each passing obstacle. He had hoped the trouble he'd had yesterday, clambering up and about all the stairs of Whitestone Castle, had simply been a lingering exhaustion from the battle, or the ritual itself. Unfortunately, between the dizziness simply walking through the city, and the difficulty he's having navigating simple terrain, all signs point to his body trying to deal with the loss of it's strongest muscle. Eventually, he’s makes it into where the back room once was. Sherri plucks her way along behind him, clear and ringing voice calling out a running tally of the clearing already performed, the materials already recovered, the work yet to be done, and the estimated time frame until they could again open their doors in Emon. 

This calls to mind yet another dilemma. One week, Sherri tells him. One week, with his “not inconsiderable talents” alongside the efforts of a few hired hands. Except, those particular talents had burned up in the Raven Queen’s crypt. There is no way Shaun could get away with not helping in the rebuilding of his own shop, not with how overbearing and hands-on he’d been concerning all of Gilmore’s Glorious Goods previous business exploits. This city knows him. His  _ friends  _ know him. They know how involved he liked to be in his shop, and they would know something was seriously wrong as soon as he handed it’s rehabilitation over to someone else.

Although, he isn’t so foolish to believe he could keep up this ruse forever. The very nature of his work demands he have command of his magic; what use is a purveyor of arcane goods if he has no talent for the arcane? Shaun knows he can’t hope to just continue on in the manner things had been, but… but… 

He can hear the crescendo of his growing panic thumping a loud heartbeat up into his ears, can feel it jumping erratically in his blood - a surreal, foreign sensation of pounding pulses echoing through the very channels of his body. 

Shaun’s just not quite ready to admit to the world that he’s lost everything that made him  _ Gilmore _ .

“Sherri, darling,” his voice cracks a bit as he stumbles into a decision. It feels strange at the back of his throat. “Perhaps… perhaps we might just commission an entirely new building.”

Sherri looks up from where she was sifting about through what used to be the main display counter. 

“It would be far less expensive to just raise this one back up, Shaun. It’s easy enough to put something back together with magic and a few strong backs. A new building means architects, contractors, city approval… and with the Council of Tal’dorei in its current state, Gilmore that could be a couple of years!”

Years. Years sound much better. Years mean time to figure what in the Nine Hells he’s going to do. 

“True,” Shaun supplies, leaning down to pick up one of the crumbled bricks. It feels so  _ strange _ in his grip, ragged and heavy, with the tiniest texture patterning along it's sides - bumps and divots and ridges... things he's heard described, things he thought he'd felt before, but realizes he hadn't. He cradles it in his hands, turning it over and over, fascinated by the the tangible weight of a physical chunk of his life being held right there between his palms. It hurts to drag his fingers over it. “I have been itching to get back to business, but if there’s anything this past year has taught me, it’s the virtue of patience and planning. It… it may be time to take Gilmore’s Glorious Goods in a new direction. A new building would be the perfect symbol of a fresh start, and it’s construction would give us time to hammer out the details of… of a new business model.”

“A new... a new direction?” Sherri splutters, tripping over a loose stone as she starts towards Gilmore. He drops the rock with a grating -clack- against the rest of the ruins and reaches out to steady her. Her hands clench around his arm like a vice, and he winces into the grasp. “You can’t be serious! What do you mean, a ‘new direction?’ You can’t possibly be thinking about closing up shop-”

“Not  _ closing,  _ dear,” he tries to placate her, patting the top of her hand, still white-knuckled around his other arm. “Just a bit of streamlining. Perhaps a change in our offered services, maybe… limiting what we provide in exchange for spreading the shop across more locales. Possibly vice versa. I’m not certain, you see. Just… feeling a bit of change, after everything.” His employee’s grip finally loosens, and Shaun takes her hand from his sleeves and clasps it just like the rock before. Sherri’s palm is warm in his, slender and a bit soft and wrinkly. It curls a bit in his grasp, and it’s such an endearing, gentle motion. Trusting him.

He realizes suddenly that with the Impedimentum Arcana, he never would have felt it. 

“If you think it best…” Sherri’s voice is slow, and Shaun wonders if her aura would show him the same strange wary trust as her questioning tone and relaxing hand.

Or if he would have no idea of the conflict in his old friend’s heart.

“I do,” he nods with a decisive set to his jaw. “That doesn’t mean there’s not work to do here, however.” Shaun properly becomes Gilmore again, calming his obnoxiously loud heart and turning to the wreckage of his shop. He rolls up his sleeves. “We have the day ahead of us, and buried treasures before us. Shall we see what pieces of the past we might take along into the future?”

* * *

As it turns out, going to the Birth-heart was in fact a very bad idea.

Vax sits on a bench a few streets down from the Abundant Terrance, clutching Grog’s cold waterskin to the back of neck.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, throwing sheepish glances back towards the large tree in the distance. “That was just, a whole lot to take in at once.” He’d tried, really, particularly after he felt the excitement radiating from Keyleth as they moved towards the ancient trunk, past the little tables and chairs and gardens… The girls’ were right, it  _ would _ be the perfect date spot. If, you know, the overpowering waves of natural magic pouring out of every leaf and twig and flower and blade of fucking grass hadn’t damn near crippled him upon entry. He’d already been off-kilter after the overwhelming night before, but he’d wanted to stick it out for Keyleth. Still, Vax had only been able to force himself through perhaps a quarter of the path before turning back, gasping and clutching at Scanlan’s shoulder with a hissed “I have to leave.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it.” The gnome in question plops down onto the bench beside him with a laugh. “It wasn’t exactly my cup of tea either. Much too frilly. And all those lovestruck auras? That was a little much, even for me.”

“To be honest, I didn’t even notice the people. I was a little busy try not to puke with all that, that… druid magic or whatever vibrating around me. I could actually feel it moving through my skin, my stomach, just…  _ squirming _ around inside.” Vax wiggles his fingers along his words. He can't quite make out the disgusted expression on Grog's face while he's still focusing on Scanlan, but he feels the sharp, dark purple spike of discomfort shooting out from the goliath's normally confident, rust colored aura. “Is that normal?” he continues. “Does that happen to you, when you’re around a lot of magic?”

“I think we passed 'normal' with this whole situation a while ago, Vax. I told you-“

“Yeah, yeah, that... that what I could do was weird for this stuff just being ‘residual,’ sure, I get that. But… but hypothetically, let’s say it’s not. Let’s say it’s something more like what you’ve got, just… like regular old magic. So is it something all the arcane casters feel or is this like, next level weird?”

“I… I’m not sure.” Scanlan purses his lips as he lets his feet swing. “Maybe?” He draws the word out, voice lifting into a higher register halfway through. The haze of his own sparkling aura, the one he keeps so closely guarded to himself, almost seems to shrug along with him as it glows brighter at his shoulders. “But I’m so used to it, you know? I probably keep everyone else’s magic out naturally, without really thinking about it. I mean, I’ve been doing this for-“

“For…?”

“…a specific number of years that I will not be divulging to you.” Scanlan huffs petulantly, crossing his arms with a playful scowl. Despite his growing worry, Vax’ildan grins. “The things I do to control it, I don’t think about it Vax. I just  _ do  _ it. I don't know if it's weird or not.”

“Well,  _ I  _ think it’s weird,” Grog huffs in a low grumble, rolling his shoulders where he sits at Vax’s feet. He had been shooed off the bench at the first sign of the thin wood creaking beneath him. “Like, Scanlan an’ Keyleth an’ Pike all having magic that’s one thing, 'cuz that's what they do, right? And like, I'm a crazy powerful sorceror and all. But when you talk about having it, it's just... weird.”

“I agree with you there, big guy,” Vax sighs, passing the waterskin back to Grog as he drops his head into his hands. “Any sign of the girls yet?”

“Not yet," hums Scanlan, a bit more jovial now, grinning at Grog's frustrated whine. "And the way they were looking around all starry-eyed before we left? It might be a while before Percy manages to drag them out.”

“I don’ wanna just  _ wait  _ here,” Grog lets his head fall back onto the bench by Vax’s thigh. Vax still winces when he sees Grog make contact with the wood. Even though the resounding smack of skull against bench didn't come across as loud or as sickening as he expected, his brain still filled it in for him. “Sure there was just a bunch of flowers an’ shit in there, but at least we were  _ doing  _ something.”

“Is there anything else we need to do while we’re in Vasselheim? Vax, do you need to uh, go see your girl-“

“No!” Scanlan looks surprised as Vax cuts him off. “No, uh… I mean, I do. Yeah, probably, but that’s not… that’s not really something I think we should really get into right now…”

“If you’re sure,” Scanlan looks at him uneasily, but he keeps the feeling held tightly to his skin. Vax wonders now if he does it on purpose, or if it’s an unconscious habit. Allura didn’t seem to do that. Gilmore  _ certainly _ didn’t… or, perhaps he might’ve tried to. Vax remembers the heavy sensation his old friend had shoved behind that ineffectual golden curtain. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to dwell on what that feeling might have been, what - if he was honest with himself - he knew it was. 

And he still doesn’t.

“I’m sure.”

“Well let’s fuckin’ do something else then,” a few passerby look up startled at the goliath’s near bellow of a groan. “This shit’s boring.”

“And a bored Grog is a dangerous Grog,” Scanlan supplies, nudging Vax as he hops off his perch. “Let’s take a look around while the ladies enjoy themselves. I’m sure we can’t get ourselves into too much trouble.”

  
  



End file.
